


Antichrist

by penceyprat



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Small Town, BDSM, Catholic, Dom Gerard Way, Dom/sub, M/M, Master/Slave, Spanking, Sub Frank, Super Spooky, Vampire Gerard, Vampire Hunters, Vampire Sex, Vampire Slayer(s), Vampires, graveyard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:28:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 96,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penceyprat/pseuds/penceyprat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were murdered, they were attacked and now they're dead. That's all Frank knows about his parents - gone before he'd even had chance to miss them, and it was fucking with his head.</p>
<p>The police reckoned that moving away, to rural New Jersey with his grandparents would help him cope with the loss, but even Frank knew that they couldn't be more than wrong, because despite the dull sleepy atmosphere of the town, there was something unidentifiable yet impossibly unnerving about the place, and really, perhaps was safer in his parents home than he ever was here.</p>
<p>And there's something physically wrong too - a figure that lurks in the smoke, fog, and shadows - a silhouette the deepest black he'd ever seen, the kind that brought an unsettling feeling to Frank's stomach, and really Frank's wasn't one to be overly twitchy about things like this, but from the moment he first met him, he could never shake the feeling that the figure was always following him.</p>
<p>And perhaps, he was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

He finds himself in the graveyard, and really, when getting to a whole new town, a whole new fresh start, Frank reckons that the last place he wants to find himself is in a graveyard, among dead people. Frank reckons however that there's hardly any difference in the gloomy atmosphere of the rest of the small town and the graveyard itself, perhaps even the graveyard is happier because the graveyard has this abundance of people that Frank needs right now.

As expected, nineteen year old Frank hasn't been doing all that well since his parents died. First of all, he was still utterly deprived of any cause or explanation and the police had completely left him hanging here, only suggesting that he moved in elsewhere to a new place to deal with their loss.

Frank just knew he should've been there when it happened, but he hadn't been, he'd been out at a fucking gig with this stupid guy he'd met the other night and at home, his parents they'd been fucking attacked or murdered by something or someone and it was just fuck.

He couldn't take it - he wanted to get out of there and boy he fucking needed to, but a tiny town with his grandparents, whom he'd met once many years ago was not what the nineteen year old had imagined at all. New York to rural New Jersey was a big change, and with the absolutely dreary atmosphere that this town pulled down on you like a thick foggy blanket, Frank perhaps reckoned that he'd be better off at home, even with the bloodstains on the walls.

They could never get out the blood and it felt just as permanent as the memories of walking home and seeing them there.

Somehow, though, the graveyard is peaceful, the graveyard is what he needs and most of all, it's empty and he's alone, and that's the first time that Frank lets himself cry.

He slides down against the cold stone exterior of the mausoleum and pulls his black jean clad knees up to his chest, letting his shamefully gay eyeliner run down his cheeks as the tears begin to burst through.

Fuck, he needed a fucking smoke, he needed fucking anything to help him forget what had happened, but he really doubted a town as fucking small as this had any kind of drug scene whatsoever, and it wasn't as if his grandparents were going to let him help himself to their alcohol either.

He didn't even know anyone, he bet no one in this town at knew where to get even some pot. Fuck, what Frank would do right now for some pot, god, he just needed this all to wash away and the greyed tones of this tiny little town did nothing but help the unforgettable blood red stain across his mind stand out.

From a top the hill the graveyard lay on Frank could see the whole fucking town spread out beneath him; fog coated over the top and the sky and buildings all one far too familiar shade of grey. Frank had no idea what he was doing here - there was nothing to do here. He was just beyond glad he was too old for school, because he couldn't imagine the school here doing anything more than making him want to put a fucking gun to his head and finish off the job of whatever killed his parents.

It was just the fact that they hadn't been killed with a gun or a stab to the heart or anything simple like that - they'd been killed psychotically, brutally, almost even lustfully - they'd been killed like someone took joy in their demise and wanted to prolong the deed as much as they could. They'd been stabbed everywhere and sliced upon with ferocity, but their wounds looked far worse than something that could have been done by a knife... the wounds looked like they'd been made by claws and fangs, and they looked almost as if they belonged to some beast or another.

But Frank wasn't stupid, this was just the workings of a particularly fucked up psychopath, and maybe Frank should be grateful that he was out of the state and that they wouldn't come for him next. He reckoned that he just wanted to be left alone here for a while before he could recollect his sanity and perhaps finally make his way back out into the real world, but as quiet and dull as this town was, he just knew he was never quite that lucky in anything, and that trouble would somehow find its way to him, eventually.

For now, it was just a waiting game, and Frank pulled down his knees, sitting crossed legged on the desaturated grass, almost ready to let his eyes roll back into their sockets and close completely, his eyes fixated upon the fog at the black, gothic styled gates of the graveyard, positioned as if it was guarding the place, almost ominously like a gateway.

The fog was sort of calming, almost protectively separating Frank from the rest of the two under its pale grey smoking blanket, and for the first time in several weeks now Frank felt somewhat safe and he let his eyelids flutter, and just as he was about to close them, completely burying himself amidst a blanket of darkness, the fog parted slightly.

And as the fog parted, the pale grey was replaced by a black, blacker than black, a shape, a figure, absolutely devoid of all light - recognisably human, to an extent, yet not quite, something was off.

The figure grew larger, stepping forward and Frank came to realise that the darkened figure had been watching him every since he arrived, the fog not serving as a safety blanket, but perhaps more of a blindfold.

-


	2. The Dead Are Always Better Company Than The Living

Frank paid little attention to the menial chatter of his dully dressed grandfather, his eyes set upon the world that lay outside of the old, vintage style car that Frank's grandfather would just about kill the nineteen year old for not being able to name off the top of his head.

Frank couldn't shake the feeling of dread and the tingling sensation that kept him forever on edge as he struggled to separate the thousands of shades of grey that surrounded him. He felt almost as if he'd stepped into an old fashioned black and white silent film as they'd driven from the airport and further into the middle of nowhere, and really, it wasn't just Frank's grandfather's car.

After his parents died, it had almost been as if his whole head had been stained red from the sight of their blood and the living room floor and they way everything smelt of decay and utter despair and as if the colours of the house had been stripped and painted red to hide the damage. This town didn't feel better at all; this town just made the memories stand out and echo around his head because nothing was there to fill it with.

Either that or Frank needed a cigarette.

He doubted that his grandfather would let him smoke and even less in the prized possession that was his car. Frank wondered who was older - his grandfather or the car? It kept him amused for a while, that was until they hit the fog.

The fog smothered the car, almost wrapping itself around the vehicle like a serpent and Frank glanced behind them in concern, only to have his vision blocked by a thick grey layer of fog. He looked forward to his grandfather who seemed to show no reaction, almost as if he hadn't even seen the fog, driving on through it like nothing ever happened, with his headlights only illuminating the first five feet in front of them.

"The fog..." Frank let the words slip his lips - more like a gasp than a properly annunciated sentence. This was the first time he'd spoken since the airport, and this was the first time his grandfather hadn't, leaving Frank to watch as the fog slowly thinned out around them before his grandfather finally replied.

"What about it?" He asked - his teeth gritted, almost as if he was offended that Frank had even dared to ask.

"I... I... uhh..." Frank let out a series of incomprehensible mumbles as he stumbled to string a sufficiently articulated sentence together - his grandfather intimidated him, to say the least.

"Spit it out, boy. Can't you see I'm trying to concentrate on the road here? It's not as if we want you dead as well." And Frank really had to sink into silence then, because otherwise he was certain his grandfather would throw him out of the car this very moment and kill him himself.

"Good." Frank's grandfather let out a content sigh as he noticed the mutual decision for silence, and that was how they remained until they reached their destination - Frank in silent hatred and Frank's grandfather silent yet on edge, because he could never really be calm here, especially when Frank didn't know what was out here.

-

Frank's grandmother was a quiet yet strict woman - she was nice enough yet she had a very strong grasp upon the matters of discipline and it was no lie that this demeanour she had inherited from the questionable actions of her husband. But it was fact that Mr and Mrs Iero Sr. were happily married and also highly respected amongst the village.

"Frank, so nice to see you." Frank's grandmother greeted him rather robotically under her husband's watch, ushering her grandson into the household, which Frank couldn't help but be in awe of.

Their house was by no means a mansion but it was most definitely on the large side, and decorated intricately with just about every shade of grey, matching the outside world completely, and much like the rest of the village, the house seemed to be absolutely devoid of modern technology, lit only in an almost purposefully eerie manner with candles that had been obviously heavily used by the wax melting into the dishes they lay in.

"Nice to see you too." Frank responded with a smile, trying to remember the last time he'd ever, or if he even had seen this woman before - it was most likely someone's funeral, as his family wasn't a close one at all.

"Maria, take Frank upstairs to his room. I have business to attend to." Frank's grandfather announced as he pulled out his pocket watch - real gold, Frank knew - he had a friend back in New York who scammed people with fake gold and by now he really could tell the difference like it was the back of his hand.

Frank's grandmother - Maria, only nodded in response before leading Frank up the wooden staircase that seemed to take up just about half the space of the house, and god knows what they were hiding in the room underneath it.

"This is your room." She explained, pushing open a dark wooden door, carved intricately with a cross that seemed to be set into the door with silver - Frank really hoped this was just a part of the house design and that his grandparents weren't obsessive Christians, because it had been bad enough with his parents and they only insisted that he went to church weekly - they didn't have crosses set into the bedroom doors.

The room was cleaned perfectly but it was clear it hadn't been used for years now and Frank felt almost humbled that they'd cleaned it for his use, not that he'd prefer to have spiders and cobwebs crawling all over his bedroom - he loved horror and gore, but spiders were something he simply could not deal with.

"You can put your clothes in the closet and unpack, just generally relax, stay in your room until dinner in a few hours when we'll call for you - that isn't permanent, we'd just prefer that you didn't go 'exploring' until your grandfather's had a chat with you. As you can tell, things are just a little bit different around here." Frank nodded, turning away as he rolled his eyes at her words, finding it absolutely ridiculous that he was practically locked up in this ancient little box of a bedroom for a few hours.

Surely he could just be good and appreciate the fact that there was probably a reason she was doing this and just text one of his friends for a few hours or something, but he doubted that not a single one of his friends back in New York wouldn't be passed out or severely hung-over right now, and even less that he could actually get cell reception here.

"Yeah, okay." Frank answered pulling on a smile, which his grandmother returned before she closed the door behind her and Frank sat back down on the bed behind him, his eyes widening as he heard the familiar click of a door locking and then footsteps as she walked away.

What the fuck? He was nineteen, for Christ's sake.

Frank rolled his eyes, shoving his bag into the closet, telling himself he'd unpack it later and already knowing now that even in a months time his bag would still be in the closet, unpacked. He did however grab his hoodie from the bag, not because he was planning on sneaking out or anything, it just miraculously happened to be unfortunately cold in the room... in late August.

He grabbed his combat boots from the bag and praying to god that they hadn't been clever enough to lock the windows.

Frank opted for the one leaning over the side of the house, with a drainpipe he could make his way down snaking down the brick work just about a foot away from the window itself. He grabbed his phone, reception or not, and his lighter, cigarettes or not, along with a ten dollar bill - he could buy himself a coke or a prostitute or something, whatever.

"Fuck..." He cursed aloud, finding that his grandparents had in fact thought of locking the windows, which really made them cleverer than his parents, who kept the windows open for pretty much all of Frank's teenage years, so practically they were encouraging him to go out and party with his friends, weren't they?

Frank was about to bury himself under the covers and sleep off the next few hours in utter despair when he caught sight of a little silver object placed almost innocently upon the bedside table - a key, and fuck, yes, it fit the window.

Frank pushed upon the window, inhaling enough cold air to cause his lungs to burst and coughing a little at the dust that the window released from the lock, almost as if the window hadn't been opened in centuries - Frank thought it weird, but he was in more of a hurry to get out of this house than to question the usage of the windows in the spare room.

-

After he reckoned he was far enough away from the house not to be noticed, he slowed his fast pace to a gentle stroll, his eyes scouring his surroundings for anywhere that looked relatively interesting or looked like it had a drug dealer or a dodgy off license at the very least. He needed something - a smoke, pills, booze, a spliff, anything.

But as he continued his explicitly forbidden exploration of the village, he came to realise just how fucking tiny the place was, and just how fucking desolate and devoid of anything worth his time it was. It was just rows of grey houses and the odd corner shop dotted in places, and the biggest building here was the church, and despite the fact that it was the only place that looked vaguely interesting here, Frank hated churches with a burning passion.

But then it struck him, churches always came with graveyards nearby, and Frank really loved graveyards. It was kind of weird, especially for someone that was scared of spiders and distrusting of villages that had too much fog, and someone whose parents had died recently, but Frank always found them calming and the dead always seemed to be better company than the living, especially the living that had crosses set into their bedroom doors.

And sure enough, Frank was right, because after walking up the hill in the direction of the church, he found the fog clearly away a little and up the hill, past the church, where the houses seemed to stop and everything seemed to fade away back into fog and endless woodland, Frank found his eyes set open the black gothic styled gates that could really belong to nothing other than a cemetery.

As he reached the cemetery gates, he found them, just like everything else, to be locked. Frank let out a pissed off sigh, but the locked door or the locked window hadn't stopped him so really the locked gates had no reason to at all.

He glanced behind him for a moment before climbing over and jumping down on the outside, landing on the grass with a thud and audible, "ow..". 

Frank picked himself up, making his way further up the hill and deeper into the graveyard with no certain idea for how he'd ever get out again, after all, he really had no desire to - he'd barely been here thirty seconds but he already preferred the cemetery to just about every other part of town.

He made his way up through the gravestones, giving a few a quick glance, reading the names of the deceased off in his head for nothing more than a measure to pass the time, his eyes set on the grandiose gothic structure of the mausoleum that had now made itself visible amongst the waning fog, and Frank was excited like a little kid on their birthday.

But as he fell down against the wall of the mausoleum, sitting down and resting his legs as he admired the hill comparable to Everest he'd just traversed his way up, everything finally sank in as he let his vision stretch out across the whole town, because from up here he really could see everything - he wasn't going home at all, and this wasn't his parents sending him away whilst they went on holiday for a week, and these weren't some relatives he was going to hate for a week and never see again.

Everything was also much more permanent and Frank hated that. Everything felt important and like he was wasting away every second just by existing, but he reckoned that death did that to people, and with no intoxicating substances to shut his nervous system down for a few hours, Frank felt himself giving into himself and crying.

He hadn't even cried since he was a fucking kid and god he felt fucking pathetic and of course that only caused him to cry further - it was an unstoppable cycle and Frank felt very much as if he was held prisoner, not just in his mind or in his parents' death, but in this town too.

The fog heavily clumping around the exterior of the village seemed just so ominous and Frank felt almost as if he couldn't trust the stuff, but he smiled in the realisation that the fog lining the hill prevented anyone from seeing him or even knowing he was up here, whereas Frank was left with a perfect view of the solely grey expanse of nothingness below him.

He was content with that at the very least, and so perhaps the fog, just like everything had its benefits. His mum had told him that; some bullshit about clouds and silver linings, however this village seemed to have an overload of clouds and an absolute lack of silver linings, and not just in the metaphorical sense.

He really couldn't see any benefit, any silver lining to his parents' death, to being here at all, perhaps this was karma of some sort, for every time he disrespected his parents, every time he disobeyed God, kissed a guy, fucked a guy, jacked off, disobeyed the law, took drugs, drank and smoked underage, skipped school, and fucked prostitutes.

Frank was really glad that despite all the Catholicism practically drilled into his brain as a kid that he still didn't see any truth in God and Jesus or otherwise he reckoned he'd spending a least a millennium, in here, in his metaphorical hell. Who knows perhaps they'd even have demons, monsters and shit? That'd actually be pretty cool - absurd, but pretty cool.

Perhaps Frank would even meet Satan himself.

Frank reckoned the two of them would get along - well, the both of them hated God, the Catholic Church, and its rules, and it seemed like Satan would enjoy a good gory horror movie. Drinking goat's blood though, vegetarian Frank would have to disagree with that one, but they killed animals and shit in the bible all the time, so really, maybe Satan wasn't such a bad guy.

Kind of like his friend Alex - everyone said Alex was a massive douche and that you should never trust him and that he'd fucked you over, etc., etc. But on the first occasion Frank met him the guy gave him some pills and a blowjob, so Frank really did not see what the hell they were talking about. Sure enough, there were the rumour and court statements saying that Alex had murdered his girlfriend, but yeah, haters gonna hate.

The guy gave really good blowjobs, and that was enough for Frank.

He set his eyes back upon the horizon, letting out a deep breath along with his worries and prayed that there was at least someone here willing to buy cigarettes for him.

He focused upon the cloudy skies, and felt so much calmer; the fog was sort of calming, almost protectively separating Frank from the rest of the town under its pale grey smoky blanket, and for the first time in several weeks now Frank felt somewhat safe and he let his eyelids flutter, and just as he was about to close them, completely burying himself amidst a blanket of darkness, the fog parted slightly.

And as the fog parted, the pale grey was replaced by a black, blacker than black, a shape, a figure, absolutely devoid of all light - recognisably human, to an extent, yet not quite, something was off.

The figure grew larger, stepping forward and Frank came to realise that the darkened figure had been watching him every since he arrived, the fog not serving as a safety blanket, but perhaps more of a blindfold.

He didn't know anything - how to respond what to do, anything. He just knew that the figure slowly grew larger, approaching him perhaps, and he'd watched enough horror movies to know this was a bad sign. He jumped up from where he sat, immediately darting to fence at the side of the graveyard, knowing that this was probably just some horrible headache induced side effect of his shamefully overwhelming nicotine addiction, but Frank really wasn't taking any chances.

He grasped the black metal of the fence, cursing as he cut his hand on the spikes, and stopping momentarily just to look at the injury on his hand, watching the blood leak from his skin, and as a rushing of wind hit his eardrums, almost painfully, he jumped back into action, thinking past the pain and propelling himself over the graveyard fence, taking off down the hill as fast as he could, looking just as stupid as anything, but looking like he was still alive.

He slowed his pace as he reached the village again, reckoning he was safe amongst the houses and prayed that his imagination would calm the fuck down or he'd get a smoke soon at the very least, before it drove him insane.

Frank shook his head to himself as he made a beeline back to his grandparent's house, completely in disagreement with the mentality he'd left the place with, because fuck, Frank wasn't five and Frank wasn't even high, but that figure looked uncomfortably real, and along with the atmosphere of the town, that was a feeling Frank just couldn't shake.

And as he approached the corner of the street that fully took him away from the graveyard and the horror he may have just witnessed, he couldn't help but make an insanely stupid decision, and stop.

He stopped, turning back and peering through the fog, his eyes fixating upon the gates of graveyard and sure enough, just in the aid of the destruction of Frank's mental stability, there the figure still stood, dark and contrasting against the grey tones of the fog, its body moving slightly, almost as if it had noticed Frank, staring up at the graveyard and watching it again.

Fuck.

That was when Frank went, and this time he didn't turn back.

-

"Where the hell have you been?" Frank's grandfather screeched as Frank approached the front garden, his grandfather pulling him into the house before he could even open the gate for himself. Frank's movement was rendered useless as he struggled aimlessly in his grandfather's questionably strong grip where he stayed until the front door was locked shut behind them and the question was asked a second time.

"I... I..." Frank stuttered out, blushing a little, knowing that he'd gone directly against his grandparent's requests and he'd barely been with them a few hours. He glanced around to see his grandmother peering at the commotion from the kitchen. Frank shot her a scared and pleading glance - she only shook her head, turning away and leaving Frank to her husband.

"Leave her out of this." He demanded, taking a step closer to his grandson in a horribly threatening manner and Frank felt like he had the right to feel scared here, even if he had bought this upon himself by sneaking out even when he was told specifically not to. "Where the bloody hell have you been? Do you not have any respect for discipline, boy? We specifically told you not to go out, and now I have very good reason not to let you out tomorrow, which had you not played the little 'rebel' we would have. So tell me, where?"

"I... uhh went up to the graveyard-" Frank didn't even get a chance to finish before his grandfather jumped forward, grabbing him by the neck and staring down at his eyes.

"The graveyard? Are you fucking stupid?" He screamed, causing Frank to flinch at the notion of his grandfather screaming the 'f word' at him. "Did you see anyone there?" He continued, inspecting every inch of Frank's face and neck in a way that made the boy feel beyond uncomfortable.

"No... I was alone." Frank ignored the figure he definitely had seen, because in the mind of anyone sane, he hadn't, and if anyone wanted to send him away to a mental hospital, right now it was most definitely his grandfather.

"Go back to your room." The man let go of Frank, gesturing towards the staircase that Frank didn't telling twice before he sprinted up there, pushing open his now unlocked bedroom door and seeing that window had been locked again, the key now understandably nowhere to be found.

Frank let out a deep sigh, leaning back on the bed and trying just to pass out and forget all of this for a good few hours, but as he closed his eyes, he was immediately hit with an image of the graveyard gates and that same figure - an image he just couldn't shake. 

-


	3. The Kind Of Seeing Where You See Nothing, And Consequently, Everything

"You can't just go off gallivanting like that, Frank. You know your grandfather and I warned you not to for a very good reason and this display of 'teenage dominance' has done nothing but prove us right in the belief that your mind is damaged by loss and you need to see clearly once again." The nineteen year old gave a vague nod in a generalised gesture intended only for her complacency in the matter of reciprocation of her words and as some sort of masquerade of interest in the endless and trivial lectures his grandmother subjected him to on almost a daily basis since he'd snuck out when explicitly instructed not to.

Frank had no intentions of coming off as an unreasonably moody and generally untrustworthy teenager, and more so of a respect worthy, independent young adult in a terrible situation and living with terrible people in a terrible town.

The town was just so terrible that Frank had in fact began to deem the darkened figure he'd spotted in the graveyard on the evening he'd disobeyed rules and broken his grandparents trust, only to have the shit scared out of him by what Frank's common sense would instruct him to label as nothing more than a trick of his sleep and nicotine deprived brain, or perhaps just some kids messing about, or perhaps nothing at all.

Perhaps all Frank had seen was a normal human being stood at the graveyard gates and what Frank had really seen was far too many horror movies.

But.

There was always was a but, and for once Frank was plagued by gratitude; desperately clutching at the only excitement remaining a town that stunk of bigots and smoke, even if it was just a trick of an overactive and severely underused imagination, or perhaps, even worse, that wasn't the case at all.

There was no lie in the fact that Frank had toyed with the possibility of there being something more to the figure; he couldn't blame himself - his stomach just wouldn't settle and his mind wouldn't focus on anything but the black smoke and the unmissably human aura, and the unsettling gut clenching feeling that despite the fact his eyes told him human, everything else didn't.

Frank opened his eyes wide, fixating upon the horizon that slowly fell behind him out the window of his grandfather's prized vintage car, imagining the figure and placing him into the crowd of people outside, placing him into the world and he came like an instinct - a human body, dressed in a dark suit and long black hair draped over his face, giving Frank no clues as to just what secrets he hide in the grin he flashed him when nobody was looking.

He.

Frank wasn't sure how he'd assigned the figure gender, but masculinity seemed to fit the figure haunting his every thoughts.

Frank blinked, dismissing the figure he'd drawn up amongst the citizens, rubbing his eyes a little as he couldn't help but shake the notion that the place where he'd stood seemed to cast an everlasting shadow, almost as if he'd left himself in spirit behind. Frank blinked again; shaking off the shivers that ran down his spine with the mental reminder that he was in fact the one who'd placed the figure there in the first place.

It was all in his head anyway... not that Frank would deem that the safest of places at all.

But as his eyes seemed to catch in their sockets for a prolonged moment; his vision fading and darkness wrapping around him as he eyelids stayed shut - forced shut, either by the press of ethereal fingertips or the gut feeling that had rendered Frank's appetite practically none existent recently. And Frank didn't know which unnerved him more at all.

And then in the self concocted darkness he saw the figure once more, but this was a different type of 'seeing'. This was sight without your eyes, the kind of seeing where you noticed not their clothing and face but the falter in their smile and the nervous twitch as they stumbled over words - it was the type of seeing where your eyes couldn't distract you.

Frank saw the figure again, but this time without the distraction and the people, or the fog or the town. He saw nothing, and then he saw everything.

And everything was an awful headache.

Frank's head spun as his self-concocted vision initiated a one-person masochistic disco, and masochistic discos were the place to dance with death.

And dance they did; Frank felt himself gripped and forced back through his memories like someone ripping through pages of a book, and then coming all too soon to a halt at one single word, at one single scene, one single memory - the time Frank's parents took him to church as a little boy, and how he could never stop staring at the beautifully carved silver cross, set in the wall above the altar, clearly the main attraction here, overlooking the whole church, almost in a protective manner too, and Frank thought the designs carved into the silver were beautiful, having paid more attention to the decoration than the actual church service.

And that was when everything stopped.

Frank's eyes flew open and the world around the car seemed to illuminate, almost as if someone had just turned on a light, but nothing had happened at all, and no reaction was visible from either of Frank's grandparents.

And Frank's grandmother was still lecturing him, almost as if no time had passed at all, rendering the darkness in his mind just as real as the darkness of the figure, and Frank's common sense blamed it on a lack of sleep, but Frank just bit his lip, trying not look at the graveyard, standing behind its barricade of fog a little up the hill as the car came to a stuttered halt outside the church.

"We're here, Frank." His grandmother's voice seemed to come back to him like a camera back into focus or almost as if someone was turning back up the volume dial on her voice, as it had very much seemed to be completely muted as Frank was occupied with the darkness and thoughts he'd really rather not recall.

Frank just wished he could have had a volume dial like that when it came to school teachers, but the way his mind had almost seemed to have been invaded, his thoughts flicked through and scrutinised, almost like someone was watching him, and someone got inside his head.

And as much as Frank's sanity would have liked to, the unsettling feeling of intrusion, someone following you, eyes on you from behind, footsteps treading in yours - all human instinct made as such to prolong our survival and keep us away from the ones who posed us danger, that just couldn't be faked in a mind plagued by nothing other than a lack of sleep.

It wasn't as if sleep ever kept your demons at bay either, in fact demons seemed to prefer the subconscious, half empty state of mind.

And Frank left the car, following closely behind his grandparents into the churchyard, letting out a sigh of relief as his heartbeats seemed to even out as he made his way inside, never finding himself more grateful in the monotonous voice of a bigoted, grey haired preacher.

-

"Reddened eyes, nervous ticks, snappy tone, bitchy little lip quirks - you need a smoke." Frank almost jumped out of his skin at the raucous voice seeming to jump from nowhere, only to be accompanied, moments later, by its own - a guy of a few years older than Frank, with a dark hair, reaching down to his shoulders and ridden with enough grease to leave Frank to imagine that it hadn't been washed in weeks.

"Are you trying to quit? That's a fucking stupid idea, by the way - no harm meant, by look at the realistic things here, dude - if you're like this already, how are you going to manage another day?" He let out a chuckle that seemed almost too high pitched and alienated in his rough, almost gravelly speaking tone.

The guy felt no need for invitation or even a single word passed between the two of them before sitting down beside Frank on the pew in far back corner of the church. Frank quickly eyed his grandparents, sitting right at the front, away from him in what Frank would assume to be in a manner constructed in an awkward prevention of embarrassment on their part. They were still there though, and he could escape if this guy turned out to be dodgy - sure enough, this wasn't a New York downtown club, and a church in the middle of nowhere, but Frank knew the dodgy ones instantly by now.

"I'm not trying to quit - I just haven't had one for a week or so, since I moved here." Frank offered an explanation, turning to face his new found, greasy haired companion, who grinned at his gesture, letting loose a set of slightly yellowed teeth.

"Moved here?" Greasy hair shook his head at that, almost laughing at Frank and making it no secret. "You must have a death wish if you moved here."

"Not my choice - I can see why you say so. I already hate it; it's just weird, and fucking creepy. I'm staying with my grandparents." Frank explained, mildly relieved to have found someone who didn't seem to walk around with an 'I heart Jesus' t-shirt, or in a metaphorical sense at the very least, because Frank had found out rather recently that everyone in this town was so overly religious it was beginning to unsettle him more than the blanket of fog, blinding his eyes and choking him as he struggled to breathe a single unholy thought.

"How old are you, dude?" He asked in an awfully casual tone.

"Er... nineteen... why?" Frank answered the stranger, despite what common sense told him. Frank reckoned though that his common sense didn't apply here at all, and that his common sense belonged back in New York, where it told him not leave his drink or go home with people that looked like they practised taxidermy in their spare time. The common sense he needed here was just something he didn't have and was never prepared for at all.

"Good, you're legal." He added with a coy smirk, causing Frank to jump a little in his seat at the rather obvious intent behind the stranger's words. "I just wanted to make sure you weren't fifteen or something before I gave you a cigarette."

"Oh... okay..." Frank fell into a blush, watching the way the greasy haired stranger found their conversation as something completely easy and natural, whereas Frank was completely stumbling over his words with nothing to blame but nicotine withdrawal systems.

"I'm Bert." He added, holding his hand out rather awkwardly, and in a manner that Frank's instinctual manners forced him to take.

"Frank." Frank responded, watching as Bert shook his hand rather firmly and in a manner that caused an odd little twist in his wrist.

"Do you want to go out and take that cigarette from me or die alone here with Jesus and nicotine deprivation?" Bert offered with a grin, leaning in and whispering the offer to Frank like a secret, and again in a manner that unnerved him.

If this were New York, he would have said no by now.

If this were New York, he would have punched Bert by now.

But Frank found himself creeping out the back of a church with a near stranger and all in hope of one fucking cigarette.

It was nothing more than idiocy at its finest, but Frank knew by now that in a place like this, he really had other things to fear than weird guys at the back of churches with bad hygiene and a need to give out cigarettes like it was the last supper.

Perhaps he was some sort of cigarette Jesus or something? Who knows?

And as Frank lit the cigarette, he just wished that really it was the nicotine deprivation that was fucking his head up all the time, and not something else, whatever the hell that something could possibly be.

-

It wasn't.

Of course it wasn't.

It could never quite be as simple and easy as that, and despite the three cigarettes Frank had ended up smoking with Bert outside the church, as soon as he closed his eyes at night, the darkness came straight back, wrapping its intoxicating tongue around every positivity emitting cell remaining in his body.

Frank couldn't scream - of course he couldn't scream. It was never going to be that easy, was it? He was just left to squirm and watch as his mind was pulled from his grasp and left to the control and mercy of an unknown force.

Frank could of course only be thankful for the fact that this time, his memories didn't go back nearly as far, only landing back yesterday with Bert and the smokes outside the church. The memory seemed to go a little fuzzy after that, the church almost seeming to dissolve around Frank and Bert, leaving the two of them and packet of cigarettes held loosely in an offering gesture in Bert's hand.

And then everything froze. Or at least Frank thought it did - the memory stopped at the very least, and his vision seeming to fade away, and he felt himself falling back into an almost peaceful sleep, but of course, it didn't let him go without one final shock - a flash of red, and then these piercing yellow eyes so close to his own almost as if they were millimetres apart, giving Frank enough of a fright to force his own eyelids open against the trance like state he'd been forced into by whatever means his sanity advised it was best he didn't dwell upon.

When he finally opened his eyes and slammed his hand down on the lamp beside the bed, he expected to see something, anything at least standing guilty and now illuminated in the darkened corners of his room, but it was completely empty and it appeared that not even the dust had been disturbed in the creation of the illusion that Frank was completely alone, and boy did he want to listen to logic, but never once before had Frank trusted the words of insanity quite so much.

Because he wasn't alone - he never was, he knew as much as that by now.

It had seemed to have developed, progressed - at first it was only when he closed his eyes, the cold breath on his neck and the unexplainable extra set of the footsteps in the mud beside him - all things he could easily pass off with false rationalities to keep paranoia at bay, but now it was almost as if he was a target in some way, he always felt the hair on the back of his neck, and he even began to suspect that whatever was watching him, stalking him, the figure or perhaps something else even more terrifying, was just toying with him now.

Because surely if it could reduce him to a state in which he couldn't even control his own mind as someone, something else rummaged through it as they pleased, then if whatever was following him wanted to kill him then they really would have done it by now.

And for once, Frank found no comfort in the prolongation of his life, because of course that could only lead to something furthermore sinister.

He contemplated going back to sleep - weighing up the pros and cons of seeing something in the corner of his eye in the dark room or having his mind taken over again as he slept, and quite honestly, Frank wasn't all that partial to either of the two options.

And he just sat there a moment, perplexed by the state of insanity he found himself reduced to, because that was the sole explanation to the fear complex constructed high in his head - constructed by the hands of others, something else, that thing.

It was connected to the figure - at least Frank knew that, and he was glad of that, even if it provided him with no comfort and in fact the opposite, because that figure didn't look an awful lot like anything except trouble.

He wondered if he was insane.

Well and truly insane.

Frank toyed with the idea that none of this was real and seeing the dead bodies that once belonged to his mother and father on the floor of his own home did this to him, and that he’d be locked up in a hospital perhaps with life support and maybe his very own straitjacket. He wondered if they did them in black. He reckoned white looked a little tacky.

Although Frank was of course overly biased in this case, he just couldn't do anything but cling on to his own sanity and not just for his own sake, but just for the raised eyebrows Bert had offered him when he jumped a little at the shadows - those weren't patronisingly raised eyebrows, they were the kind of raised eyebrows that knew; apathetic sympathetic eyebrows. He knows but he doesn't quite care.

Something had always been off about this place - Frank just knew that, and this was only the confirmation, but what to do about his questionable sanity was a tricky dilemma and one Frank was in no way prepared for - he never imagined that he'd possibly end up in a situation akin to this one, and quite frankly he was just a little daunted by the situation.

He began to wonder how much more of this insanity driving torture he could take, and how it would end, and what would be the monster that popped out at the end to say boo, and Frank wondered if he'd even be scared anymore - after all, he'd pretty much seen it all by now, hadn't he?

It was rather depressing to an extent, he almost felt the fear itself dissolving around him and it was utterly nonsensical and completely unexplainable, but Frank didn't care right now - he just wanted answers and he knew by now that his grandparents weren't the place to go in a situation like this; they'd lock him up straight away.

Frank just really didn't know what to do; in fact, he even contemplated returning to the graveyard, returning to the place this had all started and meeting the figure once again, but perhaps sticking around this time - what was the worst that could happen anymore? Who knows? They may even be someone capable of decent conversation. That really would be a miracle, and perhaps even worth the torture, because everyone here besides Bert was overly and almost unnervingly religious. And Bert, Bert was just kind of weird... not unnerving kind of weird, but not 'omg I'm so random lol' kind of weird either, it was just unplaceable, like something at the back at Frank's mind - a worry, but not quite.

Perhaps the darkness had swallowed it up. But the darkness never did seem to take anything, the darkness just seemed to browse - a useless and annoying customer, never making a purchase or even nearing the checkout, just browsing through the stock for a while before they left the store.

Looking for something, but never quite finding it.

Not yet.

-

And funnily enough that was the exact situation Frank found himself in at eleven the following morning. He'd escaped the house as his grandparents were distracted in breakfastly matters such as the dilemma of boiling eggs to the perfect degree and perfecting the crisp of their toast, yet keeping the bread utterly unscathed.

Frank's grandparents had slowly grown accustomed to the fact that Frank was a little odd, and they wrote it off as a mixture of teenage moodiness and simply emotions running rampant after what had happened to his parents, and they'd decided it easier to just leave him be. They knew what could happen to him here, but it'd been a while and he'd shown no signs of being marked or targeted, so they reckoned he'd either slipped under their radar or they simply weren't interested in him.

And as to what they were, as to what really went on underneath the painted on grey overtones of this town - Frank needn't know, or so they reckoned.

Frank was still trying to figure this out and piece together the insanity he'd succumbed to together for himself, and with a black Misfits hoodie, pulled down over his face and paired with skinny jeans dark and tight enough for just about everyone to avoid him, he set off down the street, taking a different route to what he had before, with no destination in mind, but just anywhere but the graveyard.

He was still pretty clueless regarding the whole mess he found himself in, but even Frank who'd barely scraped C grades in some subjects and failed the others, he could figure out that whatever was going on had only began the moment he'd set foot in that fucking graveyard.

Perhaps he should have considered the fact that the padlock may have been in place for a good reason, but then again Frank had never faced consequences to trespassing that were more severe than stern looks and angry shouts from policemen. That's if they caught him, of course.

Frank wasn't having a good time right now to say the least, and really, he was beyond thankfully to find a tiny little shop practically hidden in the heart of the town labelled with a plain and simple 'Music Store'. He gave a silent smile of amusement in regarding to the owner's creativity when it came to naming the place as he tried his best not to slip on the step as he made his way into the shop.

It was tiny - a room at most, and of course the owner noticed him as he walked in and tossed him an expression of shock - complete with heightened eyebrows and eyes the size of saucers, all in evidence of Frank's suspicion that a place playing The Misfits in a town like this really wouldn't get all that much attention or more so approval from the residents.

Frank and the curly haired owner stood in a mutual silence for a few moments as the owner pulled his gaze up from the laptop on the counter, his eyes darting to the boom box style cassette player on the shelf behind him and then to Frank's hoodie, his face breaking out into a grin as he finally broke the silence with a silence that caused to Frank to instantly love and cherish him for entirety, because quite honestly, the likelihood of Frank's insanity right now was really no longer a laughing matter, and more of a straitjacket kind of one.

"You like the Misfits? Well you are instantly my best friend whether you like it or not." The afro donning shop owner announced, turning down the volume slightly and standing up, making his way over to Frank who stood a little in awe of the first 'normal' human he'd seen in over a week now. "I'm Ray, this is my shop."

"I'm Frank, and yes I love the Misfits - I think you're the only normal person I've met in the week I've been here." The nineteen year old announced, his voice wielding a level of excitement that was borderline cringe worthy.

"Yeah, I was going to say - I haven't seen you around, and I mean, you kind of stick out here dressed like that, with the eyeliner and all. Surprised you haven't been staked or got some holy water to the face or something like that yet- oh god, sorry, bad joke. I'm not exactly all that good when it comes to human contact and acceptable conversation. I kind of live in here; my brother thinks I'm crazy."

"Neither am I, I guess." Frank shrugged in response. "Wait what do you mean by that? Like this place is really kind of weird, please tell me you get that too? Like not just 'old lady bible bashing don't wear the colour black you cultist Nazi' kind of weird, but unnerving kind of weird? I've only been here a week and I've just- it's really kind of unsettling, please tell me you get what I mean?"

Ray just looked up at him in response, his face paling as he consumed the meaning of Frank's waffly toned words, his eyes widening a little before they dropped to the floor with such a sudden impact Frank was pretty sure he felt. "I... uhh... you don't know, do you?" His voice came out in a tone hushed and almost spoken with the allure of a secret that even the teller wasn't supposed to know.

"Know what?" Frank continued, his eyes sparking up a little in search of answers.

"I-... Frank, please, just it won't bother you if you don't know. It's so much harder if you do, I promise you that, please trust me." Frank met the brown eyes of the curly hair almost stranger, because despite their brief acquaintance, Ray spoke to him like they were friends and that was the kind of trustworthy Frank couldn't pass up right now. "For Glenn Danzig. Trust me for Glenn Danzig."

"This feels like a stupid decision-"

"Most things are, Frank, and let me tell you moving here was right at the top of that list." Ray met his eyes with an unsettling kind of sincerity at that moment.

"And yet you won't even tell me why." Frank rolled his eyes, holding one finger up in a 'shush' gesture as Ray moved his lips in an attempt to continue. "It's okay, whatever. Just please tell me I can practically live in this shop with you or my grandparents are going to be the death of me."

"I need the company, Frank, as if I'd say no, and anyway if you like The Misfits I know we'll get along already."

And with a smile and the slight buzz as the music was turned back up, Frank drifted into the stock ridden shelves, flicking carefully through CDs and not quite paying all that much attention to the titles he was faced with as he flicked through the plastic cases.

He could never quite be focused though, especially not with the unmissable shadow in the mirror on the wall in front of him. He glanced in Ray's direction - of course; he'd chosen now to go to the toilet around the back.

Frank continued to flick through the CDs like he couldn't see himself and his own shadow in the mirror only accompanied by the shadow with an owner - a spectacle he daren't turn around to see.

He contemplated which he'd less rather see - a shadow alone, just dark matter clustering behind him, or a human- no, a creature not visible in mirrors, a creature, an entity, devoid even of its own reflection.

-


	4. The Thing In The Shadows

"Fra-"

The nineteen year old's whole world seemed to stop momentarily as Ray emerged back from the toilet; tension slowly building, reaching breaking point and then coming to an abrupt and rather anti-climatic end.

The shadow in the mirror fading away almost like an effect in a movie, making the situation feel all so fake, perhaps even as if Frank had imagined it, and perhaps he had, that's what common sense said, but of course, common sense had this awful habit of being wrong lately.

Frank pulled his hand away from the CDs, exhaling in a certain kind of relief; almost as if an enormous weight had just been lifted from his shoulders, but barely anything had happened at all.

"-nk, hey, I just wanna-" Ray continued almost as if no time had occurred since he first began Frank's name, leaving the nineteen year old to wonder whether time had stopped for either Ray or himself, and more importantly, whatever kind of madness had led him to take that time had stopped for a given.

"Is it just me or does it seem colder?" Ray interrupted his own words with a puzzled expression and a question made almost perfectly to fill an awkward conversation, and at first that was exactly what Frank reckoned Ray was doing here, but then he stopped.

Frank stopped.

Because as he finally regained control of his senses, he came to the slow and rather painful realisation, that Ray was right, and it was colder, but not chilly colder, but like all the life and warmth had been sucked from the room.

Frank jerked up as Ray banged his fist against the thermostat. "Work, you piece of shit." Came his oh so affectionately accompanying words, and Frank found himself chuckling at them as Ray finally managed to turn the thing up, letting the heat slowly seep back into the room.

Perhaps it was simply a case of faulty heating, and perhaps nothing was at all wrong or amiss here, and simply it was just the case that Frank was overreacting to nothing - still caught up about the figure on the hill and feeling alien in this whole village, but he was hesitant, hesitant to believe that.

If the heating had turned off, it couldn't have just drained all the heat from the room in minutes - it wasn't a vacuum. Frank momentarily considered the possibility that he was dealing with some sort of rogue, possessed vacuum cleaner, but he hadn't died nearly enough times for this to be Supernatural.

"The heating in this place." Ray shook his head as he casually walked over to Frank, his eyes wandering to the collection of CDs Frank happened to be browsing through, and of course, paying little to no attention to in the process. "Almost like we have ghosts, you know, one minute off, one minute on. I don't believe in ghosts, though - never seen one. I only believe in things I've seen."

"So you don't believe in God then? Despite living here?" Frank exclaimed, excited enough at the thought to send him on an instantaneous one way trip to hell - perhaps then he really would belong on Supernatural.

"I go out on coffee mornings with the big fella himself every Tuesday- nah, I don't, I just... I'm not like a Satanist, or anything, I'm not against him, it's just that I reckon with the state we're living in, he would have shown himself, or at least done something about it. What's the point in a God if he only works to provide us with situations like these?" Ray exhaled rather loudly at that point, shaking his head to himself, as if in reminder that he'd gone too far. "Hey... maybe it's just because I haven't actually prayed for about seven months now, who knows?"

Frank let out a light-hearted chuckle at that one. "I haven't prayed in about seven years, so if anyone's at fault here - it's me."

"Why on earth did you ever decide to move here then? I mean, you're most definitely new, and I don't see much tourism in a place like this." Ray raised his eyebrows as he spoke, looking Frank up and down, then hazarding a glance towards the window, letting out a small gasp in the process - of course a gasp that wouldn't go without question.

"Hey... what's- what's..." Frank followed his gaze to the floor, his eyes too fixating upon the figure outside - his hair long, dark and covering his face, a hood cloaking what was rest of his identity, trailing down into a long coat - gothic in style.

The figure seemed to take notice of the audience he'd gathered, pulling his hood down a little more, and then turning away, walking away down the alleyway, at first retreating into the shadows, before he seemed to almost disappear into them - it may have of course been a trick of the light, or just the dark clothes he wore fading into the shadows around him from a distance, but Frank had this uneasy feeling, that something was wrong, and from his facial expression, he could tell Ray felt it too.

"What the hell was that?" Frank exclaimed, breaking the silence, and causing Ray's gaze to fly onto his in a manner akin to a hawk's.

"I... uhh... I don't know... it's, it's gone now though, so I guess, I guess we're okay, but you better get going, you... in case it comes back-" By the way Ray's speech fragmented and his body shook as he spoke, Frank just knew something was wrong, and he couldn't help but feel like the figure outside had something to do with temperature, and the shadow in the mirror in front of him.

"What? And let you deal with it on your own, no way-" Frank began with laughter, only for his face to fall as he caught onto Ray's stern expression and the rather sincere shake of the head that accompanied it.

"Frank, just go." This wasn't a friendly suggestion, or a request, but an order, and Frank feeling insecure and generally unsafe in his surroundings could do nothing but oblige, grabbing his backpack from where he'd dumped it in the corner of the room, hearing Ray's footsteps disappear behind into the stockroom as he did so.

And as Frank left, the bell on the door chiming as he did so, he couldn't help himself from glancing in the direction of the figure, and shrugging it off as he saw nothing but darkness and shadows ahead of him, footsteps behind him, alerting him to Ray's return to the shop, leaving Frank to watch with widened eyes as his curly haired, perhaps friend, hung up a full scale, intricate, Christian cross in the window.

And before Frank could even consider what the hell was going on, he found Ray's eyes on him, watching him through the very same window, except as Frank glanced back at him, his heart stopped.

Because Ray wasn't looking at Frank, he was looking at whatever lay behind him.

And Frank just ran.

It was just instinct - pure fucking instinct. Common sense was now well and truly out of the window, because whatever was going on here simply could not be explained something as simple as that.

Perhaps it was insanity itself, but Ray saw it too. Ray saw it too and that was all the confirmation Frank needed.

He had his sanity back with him, and the knowledge that there was definitely something wrong here and that he really hadn't been going crazy, so right now, really all he needed was a cigarette and perhaps an idea of what the hell to do now.

-

Frank didn't stop running until he reached the park across town. It was barely even a park and more of a large garden with benches and perhaps the odd tree, oh and of course a swing set in the back, but the company of other people, even if they were grandmothers herding their children away from him, their faces complete with scowls, was what he needed right now.

"Frankie." He jumped a little at his name, turning to see none other than Bert, apologising with a blush and cursing himself from still being jumpy - it wasn't like whatever that fucking thing was, it was going to refer to him as 'Frankie', was it?

Even with his overactive imagination and his over allegiance to common sense, Frank was confident with that.

"Hey... I... sorry... I- hey, you wouldn't mind letting me bum a smoke, would you?" Frank pouted up at him, fluttering his eyelashes in an utterly pathetic manner, which of course Bert only chuckled at, passing him a cigarette from his jacket pocket and leading the two of them over to a nearby bench, Frank lighting his cigarette with the lighter Bert handed him as they sat down.

"You look jittery as fuck, dude... what the hell's going on?" Bert asked, playing the serious tone brought to his words with an oddly placed bought of rather nervous laughter, but by now, Frank was far too caught up with the fast beating of his heart and the shadows that almost seemed to surround him to even consider just what was causing Bert to act in such a manner.

"I wish I knew." Frank let out a deep sigh, his gaze drifting around him in a motion driven by anxiety alone, and taking a drag of his cigarette but feeling no calming effects at all - this couldn't be good. "Everyone else of course seems to."

"Stop being such a cryptic fuck, you asshole." Bert rolled his eyes, giving Frank a 'friendly' punch to the arm - a masculine gesture Frank never quite understood.

"I'm pretty sure I'm being stalked by some sort of disintegrating goth with magic powers." Frank admitted like it was nothing, taking an extra long drag for good measure and of course whatever Bert could possibly respond to that with.

"Looks like you've caught Harry Potter in his emo years then." He rolled it off with a grin and Frank could only shake his head in response - at a lack of words for just how Bert had an absolute lack of the sincerity of his situation, okay perhaps he'd worded it wrong, but anyone with common sense would at least think to refer to him to a psychologist at this point.

Perhaps it was for the best Frank wasn't asking someone like that.

"I was pretty sure I was just hallucinating it or something, but then today, I was at this record store, and the shop owner, Ray saw it too, and then he just made me leave and I just ran here, and I... it's fucking with my head..." Frank shook his head, wondering how he could politely get another cigarette from Bert, because at this rate he was really going to need one.

"Ray's a bit weird like that - I heard he's just really paranoid ever since his parents caught him with his boyfriend and..." Bert shook his head, his lips pulling out into an awkwardly constructed wary kind of silent, toothy gasp. "Let's just say things weren't pretty."

Frank was silent at that.

Ray was gay? Ray was gay? But Frank really did have more important questions on his mind right now.

"But this was real. Bert, I know that now - we both saw it... we both saw the same thing in the same place, and we both felt the air go all cold, and... Bert, it was real."

He frowned at Frank, turning his head to look him straight in the eye. "You sound awfully excited about that." He noted Frank's perhaps overshot tone of enthusiasm in his voice. "You know, I really hope you're not out looking for them, because like that they don't find you, and if you look for them, they end you. It's a fucking warning... probably for Ray, anyways, but leave it alone - you're new, yes, but I wouldn't put you down as stupid-"

"Bert, what are you talking about? Please, someone just tell me. What is going on here?" He paused, taking in Frank's hopeless expression of clueless and taking it as sincere.

"That's not for me to tell you, it's for you to find out and fuck yourself over with. I don't want blood on my hands in cause of your own stupidity and receive damnation in consequence."

"And you call me cryptic."

Frank rolled his eyes, stubbing out his cigarette and storming off like some sort of bitchy ex-girlfriend.

-

Frank wouldn't say he was particularly stupid, and Frank wouldn't want to be known solely for idiocy and decisions that would ought to get him killed, but Frank snuck out that evening and made his way back to the record shop, praying that Ray would still be there, because there was seriously a discussion that needed to be had.

The walk was rather unsettling at night, even if it only lasted five minutes, but with the chills on the back of Frank's neck, and the thought - whether true or not, that the figure was somewhere nearby was enough to practically have Frank sprinting to the record store, and even worse, actually listening to what his grandparents said for once. God forbid.

As Frank finally reached his destination, he found himself hurrying inside without even a glance through the illuminated window, for fear of whatever may be following him - imaginary or otherwise, would catch up to him.

Ray was there all right.

Frank found himself fixated on the scene in front of him - Ray pinned down against the countertop by another guy with short dusty blonde brown hair, spiking out at all angles.

Perhaps what Bert had said earlier had indeed had some truth to it, but perhaps in more of the boyfriend department than the paranoia one, but you could never be sure, of course. The whole fucked up situation in this town had caused Frank to be more than used to that fact.

"I...I..." Ray choked out, unable to form an entirely coherent sentence as he sat back up again, the unknown guy sitting beside him, his pale skin almost shining under the moonlight seeping in through the blinds in a legion of rectangles.

"Oh, fuck, oh fuck." The other guy exclaimed in rather quiet yet crisis like tone as his eyes met Frank's, only for his state of panic to come to an abrupt end as Ray reached forward, grasping his hand.

"He doesn't know, it's okay, we're okay." Ray passed a smile, which the blonde haired guy only returned with a small nod, leaving Frank stood by the door with very little of a clue as to how he was supposed to respond to this.

"What don't I know? And why is everyone so fucking reluctant to tell me?" Frank exclaimed, dropping his bag down by the door in a gesture signifying that he just wasn't going to be shooed out and the situation and topic of conversation avoided.

"Good fucking reason." Ray let out a sigh, disappearing around the back and leaving me face to face with the guy I could only assume to be his boyfriend.

The guy was weirdly skinny; gangly limbs splayed out awkwardly like they were too long for his body, his legs thrown over the counter front and almost reaching the floor in a manner that gave him a rather spiderlike appearance, or perhaps only half a spider, seeing as he only had four limbs, which due to his secret arachnophobia, Frank was really rather glad of.

"Hey, I'm... M...Mikey. I... uhh... sorry about that - we didn't exactly expect company." He passed a weird, yet strangely welcoming smile in Frank's direction, moving his gangly legs back in forth in a momentum like fashion, the floor creaking slightly as the buckles of his combat boots collided with it, and his black skinny jeans riding up a little as they rubbed against the counter.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't really have come, but I just needed to see Ray about something important. I'm Frank." He tossed Mikey a similar smile to one he'd offered and prayed to any God out there that this guy wouldn't be so fucking high up on his horse not to tell him what the hell was going on here. Because something definitely was - Frank was well past that state of denial by now.

"Nice batman shirt." Mikey commented, making small talk, but by the subject of conversation, Frank reckoned in a generally awesome way.

"Thanks." Frank flashed him a smile as he glanced down at his own shirt, smiling dumbly at it like it was the fucking messiah or something. "So, hey, are you and Ray... like... together?" Frank found himself asking what was clearly the question being avoided here, and of course wording it the most idiotic manner possible.

"I... uhh..." Mikey fell into a state of embarrassment, his gaze drifting downwards and Frank couldn't help but cringe at the notion that he'd brought up what was clearly quite a sensitive subject, and for what reason Frank restricted himself from wondering. "I guess... yeah, we are... it's just complicated."

"Oh, I'm sorry - I shouldn't have asked." Frank blushed a little as he spoke, hoping that the red tinge to his cheeks would convey itself in some apologetic format because his lips seemed to be rather incompliant at the moment.

"No, it's fine, it's just you're the only person that knows about us, and it should be kept that way, okay. I barely even know you, but I'm going to trust you because you're friends with Ray, and that's probably a stupid decision, but I haven't had very much sleep lately, and somehow that feels like an excuse." He smiled a little at that. "It's really not, but pretend you didn't notice."

Frank chuckled a little at that. "It's fine, dude. I barely know anyone I could tell if I wanted to." Mikey furrowed his brow at that point - his confusion made public. "Yeah, I moved here to live with my grandparents and it's probably just about the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

He laughed at that, a brief smile forming on his face. "I can relate - my family moved here a while back and it really makes a change from the city."

"Yeah, I moved here from New York - I was out every night fucking partying and high off just about everything and now I can barely even bum a cigarette here." Frank let out what was probably, in hindsight, an overdramatic sigh at that, but in the moment Frank reckoned it was well worth it.

The two of them jumped as the bell chimed, signally the appearance of another person, which both of boys stared at as he entered the shop, without even a bat of an eyelash in their direction, pulling his hoodie - dark amongst the shadows created by the abundance of anything but moonlight in the shop, as he headed straight to stock, browsing as if he wasn't watched by two pairs of shocked eyes.

But two shocked for of course vastly different reasons.

"Oh, do stop staring, I'm not that pretty." The stranger spoke in a thick Jersey accent, rolling his words off almost as if they were mostly connected and perhaps as if he felt no need to breathe between them.

"What are you doing here?" Mikey jumped up from where he was still perched over the countertop, his tone demanding yet shaking a little as he spoke.

"Browsing." Came his reply.

"Leave." Came Mikey's, stepping forward and gesturing for Frank to stand back in almost a weirdly protective manner, because he didn't look like the heroic type at all, and by his words, it seemed almost as if he knew this guy. "Nothing for you here."

"Always so negative. Never did understand you - you're such a friendly little fucker, and with that one, quite literally. Such a fucking spoil sport-"

"Leave." Mikey's tone came firmer this time.

"If you insist, dear Michael." He tutted, almost as this brought great inconvenience to him, despite the fact he clearly wasn't intending to buy anything at all.

"Now."

"Mikey, I-" Ray's voice came in a tone growing in volume as his footsteps approached, leaving Frank to turn one glance in the direction of the figure who had seemed to completely vanish at the sound of this, which was something due to his rather intimidating appearance, was perhaps something that Frank wasn't all that opposed to.

"Feels colder." Ray noted, shrugging just a little as he made his way over to the thermostat. "Fucking thing never works does it?"

-


	5. If You're A Bloodsucker, You're Probably A Cocksucker Too

Frank lay in bed awake at night, his mind on anything but sleep and the not quite so peaceful haunted realms it held for him, wishing for his life back in New York when nothing was ever quite as fucked up as this and right now he'd probably be out fucking some guy and making sure he was stoned enough so he couldn't remember anything in the morning.

Frank began to realise that he hated remembering everything, and that he hated that he couldn't forget his mistakes in anything other than a dodgy cigarette bummed off a guy he barely knew all due to his fucking grandparents, and boy did he want to just let them go fuck themselves and buy a packet or several dozen, but by now his grandparents had of course informed just about everyone in this fucking village of his existence, leaving him with very little chance that he get away with it, let alone anyone sold him smokes in the first place.

Man, Frank was fucked.

And not in the way he wanted to be, and as weird as it sounds, he missed it; he missed being fucked over his head at two in the morning speaking into the toilet bowl he just threw up into and seeing shapes on the wall that the pills put there, waiting for some guy to take him away from the bathroom and then fuck him until they passed out, and then Frank would wake up somewhere else, and let the cycle repeat once more - it was a cycle of unconsciousness and he never had to worry about anything, let alone his next fix or what the hell this fucking creepy dark figure was doing stalking him and haunting his nightmares at the same time.

Things like that should only happen when Frank was high, and he hadn't even touched anything for like two weeks now and was most likely going insane in the process, and perhaps right now he would have preferred the figure to be nothing but a mere hallucination, but Mikey had to see it too, and still he couldn't quite get his head around the recognition between the two, and of course just how eager the figure was to vanish as soon as Ray returned.

If he didn’t want to been seen, then Frank couldn't see how he didn't find him a problem, and how he'd been taunting him for days now and then decided to just appear casually beside Mikey and him, only to lead Frank to the conclusion that Mikey somehow knew him, and it just got worse, because Frank knew he couldn't ask Ray for answers here - there was a reason the figure disappeared at Ray's appearance, and the answer lay in no one but Mikey, the one person Frank was unsure if and when he'd see again.

Bert of course did also seem capable in the department of providing answers, but of course awfully cryptic and encouragingly uninterested in the matter, which was nothing more than irritatingly problematic, spinning Frank's head into the wrong kind of oblivion - the kind that hadn't been manufactured into powders and pills, but brought casually by one's own mind as a method of subconscious self-destruction, and really that was the last thing Frank needed right now.

Clarity was all he required, but the only kind of clarity he could find in white lines or particularly pungent smoke; both things he'd been cut off from here, along with whatever sanity he felt he had originally. Perhaps it would have been better for him just to stay back in New York, and face whatever dangers the world had for him there than to take his chances which insanity and its many warriors in deep in the village in the middle of nowhere and fog that seemed to consume the whole of reality.

Escape, and the whole outside of the village, in fact, seemed unreachable, and was not helped by the unreliable phone signal, and the fact that Alex hadn't answered his phone in days, which was both concerning and annoying, and yet despite the moonlit boredom shooting through his skull, Frank still couldn't trick himself into sleep's own grasp.

And there he lay awake for hours - awake and breathing irregularly, his thoughts racing, acting nervously in self defence mechanism he'd almost forgotten about, his brain acting on instinct, doing all in its power to focus on anything but the unexplainable shadow in the corner of the room, illuminated by a teasing streak of moonlit from a window Frank definitely had not opened.

And it was things like this that Frank wished he had the means in which to forget.

-

Come morning, of course, the shadow and all evidence that anything had been there at all was gone, but Frank knew far too well by now that this was most definitely not just a trick of the mind, or the light, or some creepy asshole, or perhaps the latter, but Frank reckoned this creepy asshole had much more sinister intentions, and of course ones he felt like the whole world knew but him.

And perhaps the only evidence of last night occurrences at all, or just the only change - the thing that made Frank's heart stop momentarily was the silver cross in his bedroom door - shattered and broken, and this was definitely not something his grandparents would ever even consider.

"Frank, are you going out again?" Came his grandmother's voice as she came to see Frank pulling his hoodie up in the hallway, pulling on his converse in an awkward leant against the door stood up position that accomplished nothing but difficultly and the eventual shame of having to sit down to successfully get the damn things on his feet. "Why do you have to wear that hood, honey? You look like such a thug."

I'll look like anything that doesn't entice creepy figures into stalking me, Frank thought, but decided it best that thought was never vocalised, especially in front of someone like his grandmother, and went with a simple, "it's cold," instead, which even the weather confirmed to be the most mediocre of lies, and really New York teenage Frank would have been embarrassed to know such a terrible lie ever left his lips.

"You're making friends then?" She continued the conversation unnecessarily, urging to Frank to get his shoes on as quickly as he could, only for the sake of an excuse to leave her and this conversation as soon as humanely possible, of course, God had other ideas.

"Mmm..." Frank nodded in recognition of her question, scrambling at his laces like his life depended on it. "Guy called Ray - works at the music shop round the alleyways."

"Oh... him..." Her voice trailed off, her gaze disappearing as it hit the floor, leaving Frank in confusion at first, only for the gay rumours to resurface in his subconscious, and that was enough for him to piece things together, and oh god if she thought he was dating Ray, that would really make things uncomfortable, and he wasn't even dating him - Mikey seemed to be occupying that position.

"Yeah, he's my friend." Frank added an extra stress to the last word, enough for it to be noticeable, but not enough for it to be thoroughly questioned, grinning in utter delight as he finally pulled his other shoe on. "And I need to go now, bye."

"Take care. Frank, okay?" The sincerity in his voice made him stop for a moment, passing an odd look in his grandmother's direction, almost as if she knew something he didn't.

-

Frank now headed straight to the music store without question, of course having no place else to go in a town such as this one, the graveyard of course being the old place that held any vague interest, but from his continuing encounters with this figure, Frank reckoned that if he valued both his life and his sanity, the graveyard wasn't the best place to go.

Who knows? Maybe the gate was even locked for a reason - nah, Frank couldn't think of anything plausible to the God worshipping residents of this village. Somehow weird dark figure stalking them and fucking with their head, didn't quite seem like it would make any sense to anybody else at all. Perhaps Frank should see someone about this, but he'd rather not spend the rest of his days in a mental hospital.

And he guessed for there forth the figure was something he'd have to deal with, and eventually confront by himself. Anyway, it couldn't be all that bad, as the figure had already made it very clear that he had no intentions in the matter of killing or harming Frank, but that didn't settle Frank's stomach, not at all, because if its intentions were not to kill him, then of course they had to be something all the more terrible and sinister - something Frank dare not even let pass his mind.

"Hey," Frank added with the chime of the bell as he stepped foot inside the shop, coming to the assumption that by this point Ray wouldn't really mind if he was here more for the human company than the stock - after all, Ray had pretty much complained about the lack of company, hadn't he?

And that certainly didn't explain the guy stood beside him with blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and a questionable beard, that aged him significantly, which Frank guessed worked in his favour as he donned what could be described as a 'baby face' otherwise. He also reckoned the spliff he was smoking destroyed the whole persona of innocence entirely.

"Oh hey Frank, this is Bob." Ray's eyes widened a little as Frank walked in, not really expecting the company, but putting manners first and introducing the two nonetheless, however Frank did hear a single word Ray said, his addictions pumping through his blood, focusing on none other than the spliff casually held in Bob's hand.

"Hey, Frank." Bob mumbled, his tone certainly unenthusiastic, and his eyes pulling themselves over Frank in what seemed to be a monotonous and instinctual reaction. "We're busy, as you can see, and privacy is necessary right now."

"Fuck man, I'm not leaving when you're smoking weed right here - I haven't had any for weeks and dear god, I'm going fucking insane!" Bob's 'professional' expression broke into a chuckle at that, almost treating Frank like a little kid, intrigued by him, but little kids didn't usually curse and demand marijuana from people they've just met.

"Then take my spliff outside - I'll make this brief, more the sake of the weed than your impatience, but whatever." Frank's face practically exploded into a smile as Bob handed him the object of his eternal cravings, Frank obediently rushing outside to smoke it without caution outside the shop, his back pressed against the glass window and visible to the both of them.

"How the hell do you even know that guy?" Bob asked, his tone casual at Frank's absence, his eyebrows raising in Ray's direction, causing his curly haired friend to shrug in response.

"He likes The Misfits. I barely know him, he just turned up here the other day, and he's alright, I guess." Ray offered up his explanation, his eyes focused on Frank outside. "Why do you even smoke that stuff, Bob?"

"With a job like mine, you need to." And with the stake in Bob's coat pocket, and silver cross in the other, he told no lie.

"How high is he going to be when we're done?" Ray couldn't help but ask, with less concern for Frank, and more for how much he'd hate dealing with him later.

"Depends how long we take." Bob answered with a mildly amused smirk.

"I think it's best we make this quick then." Ray spoke both their thoughts aloud, turning away from Frank, and focusing on Bob. "You sure you can stop this 'creature' coming back?"

"Well, I just need to line the building with silver and it won't be able to cross the threshold - he'll stand outside creepily though, so I would recommend you invest in curtains also." Bob added with a small smile, passing concerned glances outside and in Frank's direction.

"I can manage curtains, yeah, but how much is that silver going to cost?" 

"A lot, but that thing outside might as well cost you your life, so I know which decision I'd make, Toro." Bob pulled on his coat from where he'd left it on the counter. "I'll be back later, when that idiot outside's gone. And if you have my money I'll have you protected before sundown, which judging by that creature's interest - I reckon you'll need."

-

Frank sat sprawled out on the shop floor, his knees pulled up to his chest and laughter echoing in his chest in random outbursts, causing Ray to pass him the odd look of concern from the other side of the shop every so often.

The afro donning shop owner, largely considered kicking him out, and leaving the stoned nineteen year old to sort this mess out by himself, but it seemed compassion always got the better of him, and perhaps he just found himself rather gratefully of the company, even if it hadn't moved in over forty minutes and could barely even form a logical sentence.

"I reckon I could totally die, you know?" Frank projected his thoughts aloud more than conversing with Ray from across the room, his words and gaze settled on the shop door in front of him in manner sure to creep out anyone that considered walking in, which made Ray, for once, nothing but thankful that business wasn't exactly booming.

"Mhmm..." Ray nodded almost as if talking to a small child - a state to which the weed had reduced Frank to, leaving Ray to curse Bob for ever letting Frank inhale any in the first place, and how it barely seemed to affect Bob all the much, was doing nothing but adding to the headache plaguing the shopkeeper's mind. "We all could - that's life, I guess."

"Do you know what? I totally got laid in high school, and you know people wouldn't think someone like me would have, which is quite offensive, but you know, I did, and... That’s something to be proud of - I should've put that under my yearbook photo."

Ray reckoned that perhaps this was the kind of thing Frank really shouldn't be saying aloud, but now he had, nothing was stopping him breaking into a smile, and of course instantly feeling terribly guilty about it in consequence.

"I doubt they would have let you."

"That's really quite mean, actually." Frank sighed, shaking his head as if he was a senior citizen ranting about 'youths these days' and not the fact that he didn't shout about the fact he got laid in his senior yearbook.

"Frank, what time are you planning on leaving? Cause, y'know Bob-" Ray could barely finish his sentence before Frank found the compulsion to answer - at least he was answering, instead of ignoring the question completely though.

"Nine in the afternoon." Frank proclaimed as if it was the funniest thing he'd ever heard.

"Frank-"

"Alright, I'm going - you know no one wants to know about your affair with Bob, it's fine, I won't tell Mikey, but can I tell Mikey that he looks a bit like a spider, because he does." Ray was of course nothing but silent at that - what was there to say? "I don't like spiders. I like Mikey though. I don't like the weird dude that came into the shop when you were gone though - Mikey knew him. I don't think Mikey liked him either."

"Fra-"

"Yes I'm going." Frank rolled his eyes tutting like a mother of six as he made the action of walking out of the door into some sort of theatrical number, which would have of cause brought Ray great amusement, had Frank not let something slip that he perhaps shouldn't.

And as soon as he walked out of the shop, or had been on his feet for more than a minute, all Frank could remember was a rather pungent smell of cigarette smoke and a maze of alleyways before he woke up the next morning in somebody else's bed, and pretended he was back in New York again.

-

The bed he woke up in smelt of cigarette smoke, also - the smell seeming to follow Frank like a beautiful curse of nicotine addiction. Frank cared very little for how he'd got here, but more so for the owner of the bed and just where they kept their advil because this headache was killing him, and the struggle to remember anything after the bearded guy and his spliff wasn't helping the matter.

"Bert?" A wave of confusion washed over Frank as he stumbled into, what the fridge told him was, the kitchen, finding none other than his friendly local cigarette Jesus sat at the table. "First things first - where is your fucking advil, and then tell me how the hell I ended up here and how much I'm going to regret it. Please tell me we used a condom." Frank winced at that, at least he was doubtful of the fact that Bert could carry a foetus, but then again, he was Jesus, he probably could if he wished to.

"Frank, we didn't fuck, dude." Bert shook his head, almost laughing at the notion, which of course did nothing but wonders for Frank's self-confidence.

"I woke up in your bed?" Frank passed him a confused expression, taking two tablets from Bert's hand and swallowing them dry because Frank really did not fucking care.

"You were passed out near the park and I took you back here, I guess you were pretty high from the fact you just slept for sixteen hours." Bert commented all too casually, despite the fireworks going off in Frank's head, because his grandparents had probably called out for a SWAT team by now.

"Oh fuck, my grandparents are actually going to kill me-"

"Oh, no, they called your mobile and I told them that you were crashing at mine - mind you they didn't seem pretty pleased about it, but," Bert shrugged in replacement of actual words, a lopsided smile passing over his lips.

"Basically now my grandparents think you fucked me last night." Frank rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he wondered how the hell he was going to possibly get out of this one. Noting the look of confusion on Bert's face, Frank found it beneficial to elaborate, "I'm pretty sure they think I'm gay after I told them I was friends with Ray, but he totally has a boyfriend anyway."

"That'll all blow over as soon as you get a girlfriend, though - don't worry. They'll want to forget that kind of shit as soon as possible." Bert added in reassurance, Frank however, simply shook his head, a mildly amused smile taking to his lips.

"Oh, but I actually am gay."

"Good luck with that then." Bert shook his head with laughter, and Frank wasn't nearly as offended as Alex would reckon he should be, but then again Frank wasn't Alex - if Frank was Alex, there wouldn't have been a chance that Bert and him hadn't had sex last night - heterosexuality or not.

"Yeah, I should probably go apologise to Ray." Frank added, blushing a little at the memories of yesterday pushing through the mental block that probably was there for a good enough reason. Bert raised his eyebrows at this statement, getting of course entirely the wrong impression. "I'm pretty sure I told him his boyfriend looked like a spider."

"Who is Ray's boyfriend? I was certain he was the only cocksucker in this town... I mean we have suckers of a far different variety, but-" And Bert didn't even have time to elaborate into degrees that Frank would find himself the need to question, before he found himself cringing at probably the most awkward insult/nickname Bert could have concocted.

"Cocksucker, really?" Frank shook his head with an awkward grimace, Bert shrugging in response, taking another sip of his coffee in a state of indifference to Frank's complaints. "His boyfriend's called Mikey - looks a bit like a spider."

"Mikey... Way?" Bert stopped at that, his coffee mug hitting the table as his gaze darted upwards instantly.

"I don't know his surname." Frank shrugged, passing an odd look at the expression he was met with. "What's it to you, anyway?"

"Doesn't matter." Bert shrugged, biting his lip nervously as he spoke in a manner that Frank just couldn't ignore. "Go apologise to Ray."

Frank shook off the curiosity, heading towards the door, his hand making its way into his jeans pocket in search of his headphones, of course only to reap no results. "Hey, you didn't take my headphones, did you?"

Bert shook his head, raising one eyebrow as he scanned Frank up and down; just a little offended but also a little flattered that Frank had thought him capable of such theft. "Nope. They probably fell out your pocket when you passed out or something."

"Yeah, I'll go look later, whatever - I'll probably just get some new ones. Thanks for letting me pass out on your bed, I guess." Frank added with an awkward smile and a really horrible granny style wave as he opened Bert's front door.

"No problem."

"Feels like I'm back in New York like this, man."

"Oh don't worry, you won't for long."

-

And of course, Bert was far too right, as it took nothing but barely fifteen minutes for that all too familiar stomach clenching feeling of dread to inhabit Frank's body once more, as he made his way to Ray's shop, stumbling upon an all too familiar pair of headphones on the floor of an alleyway.

An all too familiar pair of headphones that must have dropped from his pocket as he passed out.

Leaving goose bumps on Frank's neck as he tried to convince himself he misheard Bert when he said he found Frank in the park, but he couldn't, and this was something he just couldn't recall.

And perhaps when he'd wished he could just forget everything that happened to him, Frank hadn't ever been more wrong.

-


	6. Can I Continue To Insult You Now?

It was unmistakeable.

The trees were dead in nature; the bark either withered to a lifeless almost ghostly white, or charred and blackened into a mess a pyromaniac would dream of, and the grass grew long, almost crawling up to where the fog clung long to the ground, as it had never been worn down my footprints, and the mausoleum a top the hill, protruding from the fog in nothing more than a spine tingling, ominous manner.

Frank was in the graveyard.

Yet he hadn't a clue why.

Or how.

In fact, he had no memories of ever even getting here; the last thing blurred into his memory was a rushed apology to Ray, who had been busy on the phone with someone and in consequence paid very little attention to Frank, who just left eventually, his memory of course fading away completely as soon as he had shut the door behind him, which now almost comically donned a silver cross, and Frank ought to wonder what had possessed Ray in order for him to put it there, but right now he honestly had much more pressing matters on his mind.

He found himself almost rooted to the ground, frozen both physically from the cool air and his abundance of a jacket, yet almost frozen to the spot, his eyes fixated upon the mausoleum and the path up there - well, the shorter part of the grass, littered with the odd rock somewhat embedded into the dirt - that was all there was, not much of a path, really.

Frank's heart was beating heavily, thudding in his chest as he still found himself fixed to the spot in awe of just what to do, and how the hell he'd ended up here - he hadn't woken up or anything, he'd just suddenly started becoming conscious of his actions, and it really was a weird thought, especially considering just where he'd ended up and just how well the fog ensured that he was completely unaware of anyone or anything watching him right now.

And fuck, Frank couldn't help but wish that whoever had kidnapped him or drugged him or whatever had thought to bring him a hoodie, because goddamn, Frank couldn't place why, but it was just so cold.

And just in the same way as he grown to realise where he was and question what the hell he was doing here, he started walking, his feet moving not unwillingly, yet still without him even considering the thought.

And for what was probably even an even further unknown reason, Frank allowed himself to keep walking, his feet guiding him up the hill to the mausoleum, and he really wished that his body had developed this 'auto-walk' function back when he was still forced into doing sport in high school.

It was only as the fog slowly faded away as Frank's heart really began to pound his chest; the situation moving on from a little stomach churningly weird, to 'oh fuck I am most definitely going to die right this second tell Bob Bryar I will love him forever for giving me that joint yesterday'.

To put it simply, it had become all too apparent that Frank wasn't alone in the graveyard.

And it wasn't the hundreds of dead corpses in the ground being referred to here; it was the dead things that dwelled above ground - the ones you should be really worried about.

Yet, despite every nerve in his body practically exploding as he forced himself to turn and run back, sprint down the hill and jump over the gate and then run as fast as he could, most likely ending up in a different state in the process, yet despite this, Frank didn't stop.

It was almost like he couldn't, but he felt deep down that he could, it was weird, weirdly like he didn't quite want to.

The thing Frank's heart had stopped at stood at the front of the mausoleum, leaning back against the stonewalls, standing out in all black against the grey architecture, and as he was turned in Frank's direction, there wasn't a question regarding the fact that he'd noticed him.

"Well," The stranger exhaled, pulling his body off the mausoleum wall so he stood up straight, dropping the end of his cigarette and stubbing it out in the grass with the heel of his shoe - black, of course. "Hello there."

It was then that Frank stopped, barely a metre away from the nasally yet pretentiously spoken stranger; both parties in a state of almost panicked scrutiny of one another, and Frank found himself far too caught up in wondering how on earth he could see from behind such a fringe; a mop of unwashed black hair that covered the majority of his face, only his mouth visible - pale pink lips barely visible against his abnormally pale skin, then again he didn't look like the type that frequented visits to the outside world - it was the black trench coat that really screamed it aloud though.

"I've heard, that the polite thing to do, is say hello back." What little of his face was visible moved upwards in support of a raising of his eyebrows, causing Frank to fall into a blush over the stranger - a stranger who felt just so familiar, yet he still couldn't place them - like a face he'd seen before in a dream or something. "Not that the fact that I appear to have taken your breath away isn't flattering."

"Sorry..." Start with an apology, well done Frank. "I.. I.. Just you... do you happen to know how the hell I ended up stood here with no recollection of ever walking here?" Frank didn't even know why he was asking - the guy would most likely think him insane, but if he'd learned one thing as he'd lived here, it was that insanity was most certainly not uncommon.

"Well, yes." And oh god that fucking smirk did nothing but scream smug. "I am, however, not inclined to tell you, sweet talk me a little, honey, and then maybe I'll reconsider - it is of course still rather unlikely, I will, and then obviously furthermore unlikely that you will believe me, so perhaps your efforts would be nothing but wasted here, but I'm in no objection to you sweet talking me regardless."

"I... uhmmm..."

"Take your shirt off then or something-" He continued to speak in such casual tone, amusing himself with Frank's lack of understanding in an awfully sadistic manner, and then doing far too little in the department of caring afterwards.

"What?" Frank's eyes practically leapt from his sockets at that.

"Well, it's clear eloquence isn't your speciality, therefore I doubt sweet talking me would be all that effective-"

"I'm not trying to flirt with you..." Frank eventually spat out, piecing together what he could as he looked first at the stranger clad in black and then back behind him, the rest of the world buried underneath the fog, ensuring that Frank felt like it was impossible that he'd ever escape from whatever kind of hell he'd ended up in here.

"Well, that's disheartening." He shrugged it off, grabbing a packet of cigarettes from his trench coat pocket, offering the box in Frank's direction. "Care for a smoke?"

"Dear god, yes." The stranger winced at little at his response, leaving Frank to blush at just how overly enthusiastic and generally pathetic he was coming off, but he took a cigarette nonetheless, before the stranger changed his mind.

"You really need to sort your life out, honey." The stranger passed Frank his lighter as he placed his own cigarette between his lips, rolling it to the side of his mouth as he spoke. "What in hell are you doing here if you aren't flirting with me? I'm clearly the most important thing here right now."

"And the most modest." Frank commented as he passed the lighter back, gaining an unexpected chuckle from the stranger.

"Certainly." He responded, his words slurred slightly as he lit his cigarette, a smirk curling around the smoke he held between his lips.

"Well, I suppose since we're in a graveyard, everyone else is dead." Frank added, taking a prolonged drag of the cigarette, treasuring it like it was his whole world - the nicotine allowing him to push aside the fact that he stood in the graveyard with a mysterious and rather pretentious stranger.

And as the stranger descended into a chuckle, Frank queried him as to what was so funny, a blush accompanying his words - feeling awkwardly excluded from the joke, yet still generally pissed off at the stranger.

"It seems that intelligence isn't your strong point either."

"Shut up." Frank moaned, rolling his eyes at the guy beside him - for some reason still not feeling entirely insulted, perhaps it was the stranger's tone, or perhaps it just was the familiarity and weird kind of trust between them that forced Frank into the feeling that this wasn't the first time the two of them had met, and really this was a felling he just couldn't loose.

"We don't even know each others names and you're insulting me." He added, his eyebrows raising in the direction of the stranger's face, or rather the mop of dark hair that covered it.

"Well, go on." He continued, his cigarette moving almost dangerously in his hand as he gestured wildly in accompaniment to his words.

"Huh?"

"What’s your name?" He rolled his eyes, sighing a little as if the fact that Frank was a little slow brought him physical discomfort.

"Oh... uhh.. I'm Frank." He introduced himself, knowing that, unlike New York, in a place like this, being on a first name basis with just about everyone was the norm, and that it was totally normal that this guy was asking his name, even if it didn't feel like it, and Frank disregarded instinct in what he thought was a good decision, which in retrospect, perhaps wasn't.

"And I'm Gerard." He turned to face Frank, a smile passing momentarily over his lips, before it faded away into the alabaster glow of his face. "Can I continue to insult you now?"

"Knock yourself out."

-

And the weirdest thing was that Frank barely remembered the last word leaving his lips before everything seemed to fade away again, and he found himself stood outside Ray's shop, just about a metre away from the front door, stood gazing at it rather dumbfounded, but of course within reason.

Had it been just a dream?

Had he passed out?

What the hell had happened?

Really, Frank could put no rational explanation to what had just occurred and continued to stand in a typically dumbfounded state as he fixed his eyes upon the silver cross that now hung against the shop door, and how it had been moved, almost in mock, perhaps by a group of teenagers, and Frank instantly found himself laughing at the fact that a move from state to state had turned him into one of those middle aged stuck up pricks with enough in their bank account to comfortably walk around tutting at the 'youths these days' and 'damn kids', when in New York, he'd very much been one of those 'youths', but he could say for certain that he'd never flipped a cross over in a Catholic town.

Frank almost laughed at the shop door now branded with the symbol of the antichrist, before he thought it perhaps best that he turned it back over before Ray blamed him and got angry or whatever - he reckoned Ray was already on odd terms with Frank regarding the incident that had occurred yesterday involving that joint and just what Frank had said about his boyfriend.

And Frank really needed someone to talk to about what had just happened... whatever the hell it had been that had just happened. Perhaps Bert had drugged him or something, or perhaps somebody else had prior, causing him to pass out, or maybe the weed still hadn't fully worn off, but Frank deemed the last one rather unlikely, considering the fact that he felt anything but high right now.

But as Frank reached out to flip the cross back over, he found that it simply wouldn't budge, and it felt almost nail down in that position, despite only being hastily hung over a hook with a piece of fucking string, so Frank tried again, harder, but it simply would not budge, and really despite how ignorant he recognised this to be, he had to give whoever had vandalised it credit, because they'd certainly done a good job.

"Frank?" He jumped out of his skin as the door he'd been staring so intently at opened, revealing a rather flustered Ray, his afro sticking up in a variety of directions, and he could only assume that, one, whatever he'd been doing hadn't been exactly warranting a silver cross on his door anyway, and, two, that Mikey was here.

"Your, uhmm... cross, is... uhm-" Frank stuttered out as he stumbled over what could possibly be the least suspicious manner in which he could explain the current situation.

"I know." Ray let out a sigh, grabbing Frank by the hand and pulling him inside, and sure enough, as Frank had suspected, perched on the edge of the counter top was Mikey Way, spindly spider legs and all.

Mikey let a chuckle pass over his lips as he met Frank's gaze, leaving the nineteen year old both equally confused and distressed at just what was so funny, and of course, considering his homosexual tendencies, his first thought was 'oh my god has my eyeliner smudged?'.

Thankfully, that was not the case.

"A spider? Really?" Frank's eyes popped out at the realisation of just what Mikey was referring to, and he could only send a glare in Ray's direction, signifying Frank’s message of 'oh my god you did not tell him'. Ray, of course, only smirked in response, finding this all rather amusing, as he knew that Mikey wasn't at all offended, and that the person making the biggest deal out of this was really Frank himself.

"I was high." Frank blushed, his gaze trailed down in the hope of what was a non verbal apology, because he hardly reckoned that he was up to putting out yet another coherent sentence in this state of embarrassment and 'oh my god please kill me'.

"Yeah, I know." Mikey added with a small, yet friendly smile - a smile of anything other than miniscule size was never encountered upon his lips. “It’s fine, Frank. Don't worry."

"Thank god, I'm sorry." Frank felt into yet another blushing, brushing his fringe over his eyes in a terrible attempt to hide it. "Wait, Ray, what happened to the cross thing outside?" Frank asked, somehow still curious about the thing, and more so just adamant in his efforts to ensure that Ray was aware that he wasn't to blame - he really could not run the risk of loosing what few friends he had, especially in a place like this.

"Uhmm..." Frank couldn't help but notice and in turn question the blush that fell upon Mikey's face as he turned away, biting his lip ad allowing Ray to answer. "I don't know?"

"I thought someone had just fucked with it, turned it over, but it seems to be nailed down or something-"

"Oh, so you tried to flip it back over?" Mikey turned back, his eyes widening at first and as Frank nodded in response, he sighed in correlation to a gesture or a conversation shared only between him and Ray, leaving Frank, of course, clueless.

"Don't worry about it, Frank. I'll get Bob to sort it out later." Ray suddenly began to question his original plan of keeping Frank in the dark about what was going on here, because although intended as a means to keeping him safe, it seemed to be causing everyone a lot more trouble than it was worth.

"Who do you think did it?" Frank couldn't help but ask; something Ray mentally cursed him for, forcing the usually honest boy into yet another lie - something Mikey could only offer him a sympathetic glance in help with.

"I don't know. Lots of strange things have been happening here." Ray shrugged it off with a generic comment, that wasn't untrue, but it certainly wasn’t the whole truth either.

"Yeah, I've noticed." Frank went a little pale at that as he began to recollect the memories of how he'd unexplainably ended up in that graveyard and had a conversation with that weird stranger in a trench coat, what was his name? Jared? Gerard? Esteban Julio Ricardo Montoya de la Rosa Ramírez? Frank couldn't quite remember.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Mikey queried, one eyebrow raised as he jumped up off the counter, leaning back against it, crossing those spider legs of his.

"Well... I think, I don't know, but I think I keep blacking out, or passing out, or something, it's just I end up in places with no recollection of ever getting there and nothing ever quite seems to add up as if my mind or something is purposefully fucking with me, and... god, I probably sound insane right now, and I probably am, but it's got to the point where this has happened enough for it to be real... it has to be..."

"Frank... can you... uhm... go into details here...?" Ray finally dragged his words out into the silence, him and Mikey sharing a look of connotations far too ghastly that Frank had been shielded from understanding.

"I.. uhh... wait you actually believe me?" Frank stopped, glancing up at Ray, his brows furrowing as he found himself almost set in the belief that he'd receive nothing but ignorance and skepticism in return for his confession.

"Of course I do, Frank. What kind of friend would it make me if I didn't?"

And that word 'friend', that stuck with Frank, because he found himself astounded by the fact that despite comparing his boyfriend to a spider, getting high inside his shop, and being generally annoying, Ray still considered him as his 'friend'.

God, that guy must have incredibly high patience.

"So... it kind of started the day I got here and I was stupid enough to go into the graveyard and I don't know if this is some messed up kind of karma thing or whatever, but then, I saw this kind of figure thing, and I got totally freaked out and just legged it after that, but I... I think... I know it sounds crazy but I think that whatever I saw there, just won't leave me alone..." Frank jolted as Mikey inhaled audibly, sucking a harsh breath of air, and as all eyes focused on him, he simply nodded for Frank to continue, passing Ray a far more concerned glance.

"And then I just kind of kept seeing it, like in the corner of my eye, or its shadow in a mirror, or in the shadows, or something - the kind of things you can dismiss on their own, but as they all stack up, it just fucks with you, you know? And then today, just now, just as I was going here, I was stood outside the door, but then almost in blink, I wasn't - I was in the graveyard and there was this guy in this stupid fucking trench coat and dark hair and he gave me a cigarette, and then suddenly in just a blink I was back here, and it almost felt like a dream, but it wasn't, because... because my throat's still scratchy from the smoke he gave me-"

"I told you it wasn't going to work, Ray." Mikey suddenly snapped, interrupting Frank, with widened eyes from all parties, as suddenly all the attention found its way to Mikey and the glare fixed onto his face; not angry at anyone, or anyone here at the very least - he was just angry at what had happened to Frank, because unlike the nineteen year old, he knew what this meant, and he knew it all too well.

"At least I was trying... he didn't have to know-" Ray stuttered to explain, suddenly feeling both pairs of eyes on him as Frank struggled to piece together as to just what on earth was going on here, and just how everyone in this damn town seemed to know something he didn't.

"Know what?" Frank questioned, stepping closer to the two of them in a manner that would have been intimidating if Frank wasn't like three foot tall.

"Frank, what exactly did this guy look like?" Ray countered Frank's question with another in a manner that the nineteen year old wasn't all that fond of but obliged to regardless; mainly in the hope of an eventual explanation rearing its head.

"He had messy black hair, kinda long, covering most of his face, and he was pretty fucking pale, wearing all black with a trench coat and I think a hoodie underneath because he had a hood as well, and stupidly tight jeans-"

"Did he look like..." Mikey began, exhaling as he glanced at Ray, realising that his boyfriend was still unaware of the event that he was about to bring up. "When Ray had gone behind the back the first time we met, and that guy that walked in... did he happen to look like him?"

And suddenly Frank's heart stopped entirely, because he didn't even just look like him, there was no question regarding the fact that they were the same person.

And Mikey knew him.

"Wait... what was this?" Ray's eyes widened, glaring at Mikey, as he had expected - Ray didn't particularly take well to being left in the dark. "Was it him?"

Mikey nodded.

"Did this guy tell you his name?" Ray directed his question at the eternally confused Frank, who still found himself utterly devoid of any answers whatsoever.

"Yeah, I think it was like something beginning with a G.. Ge...r..?"

"Gerard?" Mikey exhaled, pushing the word forward, despite it being an option he daren’t consider.

"Yeah! Yeah, actually... it was..." Frank glanced between Ray and Mikey, confusion still evident upon his face.

"Fuck."

-


	7. Fuck 'Em And Suck 'Em

The place is darkness - it isn't just surrounded by or smothered in darkness, the place itself is darkness, and nothing but. And the figurative and literal meanings of the previous statement can just about be used interchangeably - the denizens of the cavern seem not to believe in 21st century forms of lighting, and some are even impartial to candles.

Mikey has figured that out by now at the very least, and he is unsure as to how he feels about it - the whole underground cavern under the mausoleum thing certainly adds to the atmosphere, but he can't help but feel as if he's nothing more than a not quite living, not breathing cliché. At least, unlike his brother, he isn't going all Edward Cullen on the new guy.

Mikey reckoned dating Ray didn't count as 'Edward Cullen'ish, mainly because Ray knew who he was and everything about him - Ray knew what he was getting into and Ray, he understood, whereas Frank was just about the dictionary definition of young and naive, and unbelievably star struck for guys in dark coats with inky black hair that hadn't been washed for several years now.

'Spider boy' as Frank had called him, hated being here - underground, in this cesspit of bloodsuckers and leeches - the scum of the undead, and this village. This was the only place that he saw his brother, and in fact, until recently, Mikey had begun to believe that he never even ventured above ground, but it seemed very much so that he'd been proven wrong with the unexpected encounter at the record store, which Mikey would even go as far enough as to consider his territory, as the younger of the brothers, much preferred the record store and the company of Ray Toro to this place.

He knew enough about his asshole of a brother, though, to know that this wasn't about him, Ray, or even his relationship with Ray, which Mikey would say had to be a first; Gerard's approach to humans seemed to be fuck them and suck them... of their blood, though he was sure that Gerard wasn't exactly impartial to other forms of sucking.

It was just Gerard's 'obsession' with little naive and annoyingly ignorant Frank Iero, that seemed to set things off here - Frank wasn't safe, that was for sure, and Frank wouldn't be told otherwise than his ignorance and light heartedness was also for sure, but of course, the chances of calling Gerard off a hunt, especially when he seemed all this keen, was just about nil to none.

He'd certainly never gone as far out as to seek them out above ground and in the other end of the village - the elder Way's hunting ground seemed to be limited to the graveyard and leeching of whoever he could intimidate or trick into letting him. Gerard was certainly one of the leeches of the community, and yet with Frank he seemed to be making an actual effort.

And if Gerard wasn't a fucking heartless, filthy, bloodthirsty, hormonal bitch, and they were just normal teenagers, then perhaps Mikey would have been glad that his brother had finally taken an interest in something normal, instead of just hiding away and living off rotting 'vintage' blood from the seventeen hundreds - he called it his equivalent of wine, but I knew this was nothing but a combination of a liar and someone who thinks their brother is an idiot.

There was just the matter of what to do about this that was plaguing Mikey's mind, especially since Ray was so continually insistent in retaining Frank's 'innocence'. Mikey thought it nothing more than a stupid idea, but he didn't want to upset his boyfriend, and he settled for calming his conscience with the excuse of Frank being Ray's friend and not his own, but with the death warrant they seemed to be signing for him, Mikey was beginning to doubt that anyone was Frank's friend right now.

Of course there was the matter of what on earth they could possibly tell him; how they could explain this to him in a calm manner and ensure that he didn't do anything stupid or confrontational, which judging by the offward glare Frank had given him when the two first met, Mikey didn't exactly deem unlikely. He wouldn't exactly blame Frank, though, what easy way is there to tell someone that an unstoppable, deadly, bloodsucker is hunting you down in particular and will enjoy playing with you and fucking with you head until he finally fucks you and takes your blood like a passing gift, leaving your relatives to deal with the corpse on the bedroom floor.

Frank certainly didn't deserve that - to die, but especially the events leading up to death, and with the description he'd provided Mikey, he just couldn't help but feel sorry for the poor kid, going insane under the spell of Mikey's own sadistic older brother, whose mind worked in nothing other than the lines of lies, blood, and sex.

But this was never quite as simple as telling Gerard to stop, because Gerard was just like every other hundred year old, eternally teenage boy, in the fact that 'no' never meant 'no', only 'I'm going to try harder, because I fucking want to', and yet, despite what consequences his actions might upheld for him, Mikey felt compelled just to try, and most certainly, he wanted to make sure that he hadn't just gone down into this god forsaken, underground bloodbath of leeches for nothing.

Even if his brother would curse him to hell and back, before he could even scream back a no, and perhaps may even just get the job done quicker in response, Mikey just had to try, because then, when the two of them overlooked the dead body before they burned it away to ashes in the churchyard, Mikey could at least tell Ray that he had tried.

And perhaps then, since Frank was nothing more than a short term friend, the two of the could move on afterwards, but perhaps Mikey would never be able to look at his brother in the same way - not that they'd ever shared any look of affection, but they could even reach the stage of reluctant acceptance if 'spider boy' didn't grow some fucking balls and try.

It was such a fucking sick thing though, that most people were destined nothing but short term existences in this town, and it was fucking sick - the divide between the undead and the living, and the secrecy that surrounded it, but even Mikey 'optimistic at times' Way, couldn't quite bring himself to believe that this was ever something he could change, and most certainly not on his own.

"Oh dear Michael, would you perhaps take the courtesy as to not stare at me as if you're nothing more than some lovestruck fuckwit." The eloquence with which Gerard's dirty mouthed insults were spoken with brought even Mikey a mild amusement - even Mikey, who hated his brother's guts.

"Lovestruck fuckwit." The younger of the two brothers, but not by all that much, chuckled at that one, simply shaking his head in acknowledgement of what was perhaps a badly chosen insult on Gerard's part, as he stepped across the darkened room towards his brother, whose face, for once, was on show, and illuminated by candlelight.

"Pardon?" Gerard raised his carefully plucked eyebrows almost snobbishly, as he jumped up from the armchair he sat in; legs thrown over one arm and head laid back in entirely the wrong place.

"If anyone's the lovestruck fuckwit, then it's you." And perhaps common sense would have ensured Mikey said nothing of the like, and continued on in his well reasoned mild fear of his older brother, but it seemed to be, that by even the simple fact that he was here, his common sense was not at its best today.

Gerard laughed at that; a dry, kind of dark laugh - insanity ridden for sure, and the almost sadistic glint in his almost bright amber eyes wasn't helping appearances at all. "That's rather a preposterous conclusion to jump to, dear brother." And there came the menacing smirk, the animalistic hiss, and the baring of the fangs concealed behind chapped lips.

"Frank Iero." Mikey took a step back at his brother's gesture, because although brave, he wasn't quite stupid. "You're hunting him. You're making an effort for once, and you're messing with him. It needs to stop."

"Am I right in thinking that just a week or two ago you were down here like my grovelling mother criticising my lazy behaviour and scavenging habits?" And the truth was that, although Mikey didn't quite want to admit it, his brother wasn't wrong. "Surely, you should be proud of me. I'm making an effort."

"Leave Frank alone." His words were all but intimidating and certainly unconvincing, and so that Gerard didn't reckon it was even worth his time to stifle laughter, opting instead for a grimace, revealing a small fraction of the fangs set behind his lips.

"I thought you were busy fucking around with that Toro kid." Gerard asked, eyebrows raised, wrong impressions received entirely, and perhaps even astounded that his brother would have anything to with the weird yet amusing and oddly loveable kid he'd met in the graveyard the other day.

"Ray and I are boyfriends, Gerard." Mikey met his brother's eyes for that one, only of course managing to be at all convincing regarding his relationship status with the curly haired human he pretended not to be in fear of being publically associated with, but since Gerard was his brother, he seemed to be a different matter entirely. "Frank is my friend, and you know what, it sounds like a big ask, but I'd really rather you didn't kill him."

And then came the return of Gerard's psychotic laughter - echoing across the cavernous walls in a manner that would have intimidated Mikey if he wasn't so accustomed to his brother's arrogant scare tactics that he became concerned when he didn't want to snap his brother's neck within a minute of talking to him.

"Oh but killing him would be far too easy, and such a waste." He stepped forward to his brother at that moment, pushing his bony frame up onto his tiptoes in order to make up for the inch or so of height his brother succeeded him by. "He's such a pretty little thing, don't you think?"

"Gerard." Mikey didn't quite know what his brother was implying, but from the sounds of it, and that terribly perverse tone with which his words were spun from, it was nothing good, and perhaps even worse than whatever fuck, drain, kill routine that Gerard would have used with anyone else.

"Oh but he is, Michael." Mikey winced as his brother referred to him by his full name once more, and being the only person that did, the name was left with nothing but disgusting connotations. "He'll be a good fuck, for sure. I just have to see how compliant he seems with the whole idea and then we'll see-"

"The whole idea of what?" The younger brother interrupted with widened eyes and an expression guilty of fratricide, and a head far too eager regarding the concept.

Gerard hit him with a stern gaze, taking the whole idea of being interrupted incredibly personally, passing his brother a scowl before continuing with what he'd been saying prior. "And then we'll see whether I do need to kill him in the end, but dear Michael, I have been reading, researching, studying, and it would simply be far more efficient and undoubtedly better for the both of us if he were just to comply with my requests-"

"Gerard, this is your last fucking chance to leave him alone." Mikey stepped closer to his brother, their eyes meeting - Gerard's illuminated with the fresh blood buzzing through his veins, and Mikey's a duller brown, having not fed for several hours, and only planning to satisfy himself with some old asshole dying and fading away somewhere.

"No." His voice was firm, and most certainly sterner than Mikey's. "I most certainly will not. He'd make such a wonderful little pet."

"Pet?" Mikey exclaimed, taking Gerard's sincerity in at once, as he scanned his brain for just what the word brought to mind.

"Yes, I have done my research - I can bind him to me for entirety with some sort of ritual thing, and then I can feed off him and fuck him as I please with no affect upon his poor little human body, as he won't be one of us per say, but linked to me, and my energy. If I die, he dies, that kind of thing - I sort of have his soul tied to me, in a way. Sounds beneficial for the both of us, well only in his case if the alternative is a painful death.. Which it is."

"But, Gerard, please." Mikey knew the almost pathetic look his face was painted with would have no affect upon such an apathic character as Gerard, but he reckoned that by now, just the fact that he'd tried warranted him merit of some sort. "He doesn't even know - about us, about this... what we are."

"Even better."

And there again was that stomach churning laughter, echoing throughout the vicinity, leaving Gerard to fall into nothingness and appear again elsewhere, before Mikey's head could even process the situation they were in.

And if he could say one thing for sure - it was much worse than he'd originally thought. Much, much worse.

-

Cold.

All Frank felt was cold.

A never ending cold - the kind of cold that just wouldn't leave you, like a haunting presence, but this time in a manner more literal than Frank's head would have liked him to think.

Because alone was not something that Frank was certain he was anymore, and just how uncomfortable he was with that fact was put aside by the gut instinct that called for him to keep walking like nothing at all was astray.

So, the nineteen year old, swallowed, perhaps not even out of the ordinary, yet with dry scratchy sensation clawing at the back of his throat like some ungodly creature, and how he aware he was of the emptiness of the alleyway to the eye, and of course how his mind told him otherwise, perhaps those were what added up in order for one simple swallow to echo out across the walls of the buildings surrounding him like the four walls of a prison cell.

And Frank wanted to run, and every instinct was screaming at him to run, but he felt that would, if there were at all someone or something there, give him away. So he took one slow step, then another, and another, and another, and another; all slowly increasing in pace as he traversed his way out of the shadows of the alleyways and just what lurked in them; never had the fog ridden main street of the village ever looked quite so appealing.

But Frank never quite made it out of the alleyways.

That would be all too boring after all. 

It could never be just 'and poor Frank Iero got home frightened, yet unscathed' - what lurked in the alleyways just simply wouldn't allow such a thing, of course.

He stopped perhaps even of his own accord, or that was as passers-by would see it, however, Frank wanted, perhaps even begged to move his feet, but they seemed stuck to the cobblestone floor like it was quicksand. And eventually, he even gave up trying.

That was his first mistake.

Or perhaps not, depending on your perspective.

Because as Frank stopped and let control of his head subside into nothingness as terror looked him straight in the face in the simple form of safety on the horizon, yet the kind of safety on the horizon that he just couldn't quite reach.

And the opportunity was exploited; his opportunity of nothingness, of weakness, of emptiness, of pure terror, and the need to take that opportunity spurred on by words of warning from a certain younger brother.

Exploitation, simply, in the form of a cold hand on the back of Frank's neck.

And the one heartbeat in the alleyway stopped for what seemed like eternity after that.

Cold breath against his neck followed in pursuit of the hand, and as Frank's heartbeat came back in full swing; thudding so hard he almost feared for it bursting from his chest, blood and guts everywhere - like his parents, Frank tried to scream.

But he couldn't; the noise hitching in his throat and in his unwilling silence, a second cold hand finding its way over Frank's mouth.

And the nineteen year old wondered if this was how he was going to die.

-

"He's such a fucking asshole, though." The volume at which Mikey's words burst out with, drowned out as he swung his foot against the wall, taking advantage of his incapability to feel pain in order to sufficiently take out his anger and destroy nothing but Ray's shop in the process.

"He's your brother." Ray grabbed his boyfriend's hand, wondering just what lengths he'd find himself going to in order to calm him down, and just hoping that in eventuality, he would. "If he's going to listen to anyone, it's going to be you."

"I wish he wasn't." And Ray considered commenting upon the harshness of Mikey's statement but decided against it, especially with him in such a state. "Where even is Frank? Didn't you say he was getting here as soon as he could... what? Like ten minutes ago now?"

"It'll be fine, Mikey." Ray grabbed his boyfriend with a little more force this time, spinning him around and planting his lips against the cold ones he had to duck a little to reach. "He's just a little late."

"Either that, or my brother has killed him by now... or worse... or worse..." Mikey shook his head, turning his gaze back to the window, and wishing they hadn't chosen to meet in the evening, even if such a time was a necessity for Mikey to avoid running the risk of accidental death, the exact same went for Gerard, and with this meeting, he was just the kind of person they were ensuring Frank was able to avoid.

"What did he even say to you about what he was going to do?" Ray asked, biting his lip in order to bottle down his genuine concern for Frank's whereabouts, in the hope of saving his shop from further abuse and destruction.

"Make Frank his 'pet' or whatever the fuck kind of thing he meant by that he basically just wants to enslave him, or something, man fuck, can he even do that or is he just trying to fuck with me?" And Ray wish he could offer Mikey all the right answers, but the unfortunate record storeowner was not Bob Bryar, who would.

"I think we should talk to Bob about this." Ray suggested, his eyes, like Mikey's, fixated upon ever-growing darkness outside.

"We? You mean, you? Bob, will not see the good in me like you do and will of course not hesitate to kill me on sight." Mikey reminded his boyfriend, his eyes widening in concern as he pictured the scene and shivered a little.

"Neither will he Gerard, if we involve him..." Ray added, not sure as to whether Mikey hated his brother enough to run the possibility of his death without care or compassion.

"That's Gerard's fault then." Came an apathic grumble, perhaps even similar to the shit his brother's lips let slip.

"So you wouldn't mind killing your own brother?" Ray knew what Mikey was, but he didn't quite know how to feel about this at all, because despite who Gerard was and what he was planning upon, it just made him sick. Ray was the kind of guy that didn't like killing anybody, and really, in a town like this, it was an absolute miracle that the guy was still alive.

"He wouldn't mind killing off Frank, so I don't see what's the problem here, huh?" Ray decided it best not to argue further, detracting his gaze from the anger bubbling between them. "Sorry, I... it's been like fifteen minutes now."

"I know."

"He's-"

"He's perfectly fine, Mikey. Just wait another minute, I promise."

And never more had Ray hated to be wrong.

-

"Shush." The voice, nasally and strong with a Jersey accent, brought further cold breath against the back of Frank's neck - the boy paralysed at what he was certain to be sudden death, pressed against the cold body of a stranger, stopping him from screaming or escaping.

The hand on the back of his neck moved up and ran its fingers through Frank's dyed black hair, tugging a little and grabbing Frank's attention with a jolt, and a chuckle from the stranger to follow. "No need to be scared, Frankie."

The stranger removed the hand from Frank's hair and grabbed a cigarette from the packet at the bottom of his jacket pocket, placing it between Frank's lips as he removed the hand he'd been blocking them with, reaching around with a lighter and igniting the thing before Frank could even react.

"Who? Who- are you?" Frank spluttered his words out, the nicotine fix somehow bringing him back down to reality in an instant, warranting another bone splintering laugh from the man behind him, who stepped forward, his boots clicking against the floor as he made his way to stand before Frank, a smirk twisting its way upon his lips.

"Don't you recognise me, Frankie?" The stranger passed another chuckle, making his enjoyment in Frank's confusion and panic rather public indeed. "I'm offended."

"Wait, woah... you're that asshole- I... fuck, what are you... what? You fucking scared me? What is with that shit?"

"That asshole." He let a smirk grace his lips at that. "Seems fitting."

"Yeah." Frank rolled his eyes in response, clearly not seeing the situation in quite the same light that Gerard did.

"Sugar, it'd just be easier for your if you got over the fact that I scared you, and just how embarrassing that was, because we've got things to do." Gerard cut to the case, stepping forward and holding his hand out to a confused and offended Frank Iero.

"We? What the fuck?" And perhaps everyone had really been right when they told him not to go in the graveyard.

Gerard brushed his fringe from his eyes, tucking his black, unwashed hair behind his ears and revealing a face Frank was yet to see in full - his amber eyes bright and captivating.

And Frank couldn't help but blush at the fact that although seriously fucked up, this guy was aesthically pleasing, to say the least, perhaps he would even go as far as to say that he was attractive, perhaps.

"Your eyes..." The words tumbled from Frank's lips.

"Yeah, they go like that when I consume human blood."

And Frank laughed, but Gerard wasn't joking.

-


	8. Trenchcoat Boy & The Human Magnet Of Fucked Up Things

"Come on, Frankie, honey." Gerard's words left his lips in a manner that was nothing but purposefully husky, and there was really no mistaking that, because even if Frank wasn't flirting with Gerard, Gerard most certainly was flirting with him.

Frank froze at the pale hand outstretched in the shadows and the grin across the guy who said he consumed human blood's face. Frank was certain he was joking, because the alternative was just down right ridiculous, but there certainly was something off about him, no denying that.

"What do you mean? Where? What's going on? I barely just met you, Gerard." Frank reminded him, but despite the nineteen year old's persistent attempts at breaking through, Gerard was adamant in his wishes and grabbed Frank's hand himself, interlocking their fingers and Frank almost shitting himself at just how fucking cold Gerard's hands were.

"Cold." Was all he managed to choke out at first, still a little intimidated by the totally not attractive guy in a trench coat insisting on holding his hand. "Your hand's so cold."

"I'm sure you'll warm me up, honey." He was flirting now, if he wasn't already, which he really was, but there was no escaping the suggestive connotations of his words now, and perhaps Frank wasn't even all that sure that he really wanted to.

"What do you mean by that?" Frank asked a question, and dreaded what he already knew to be the answer, his eyes fixated upon the hazel, glowing golden ones of the trench coat donning man before him.

"I mean that you're going to follow me and respect the fact that I know what I'm doing here." His eyes almost seemed to glow, and give off a light of their own at that point, his words drifting out slowly in a manner Frank was at first confused by, but soon obliged with Gerard's request, stupidity in full flow, letting the guy he barely knew lead him through darkened alleyways that he knew he never could make his way back out of again in the trust of the fact that the guy was kind of hot.

But so very cold, and that really was fucking with frank's head in a manner that was of course entirely nothing but intentional.

The darkness around them seemed to come into a blur as Gerard led Frank through the alleyways, almost as if he was moving at a impossibly fast speed, and it seemed like only mere seconds had elapsed before the two of them stood outside a little house hidden away amongst many others, inconspicuous, but seemingly abandoned as the ivy, crawling over the brickwork, declared the house its own.

Frank even began to wonder if what Gerard was about to do here was illegal, but he soon reminded himself of just how illegal everyday of his life back in New York had been, and how this fucking town had brought drastic change to that, and perhaps, just perhaps, Frank was missing that whirlwind lifestyle just enough to let his stupidity get the better of him and follow Gerard inside.

Surely, he managed to open the door, so perhaps he did own this place, or perhaps the door was just unlocked, but by now Frank didn't care, and was perhaps so under the spell of trench coat boy, he'd probably follow him off a cliff.

That, if you hadn't noticed, was a bad thing.

Bad things seemed to be magnetically attracted to Frank Iero sometimes, he was like a human magnet of negativity, or just fucked up things.

"Make yourself at home, Frankie." He let a grin pass over his lips, almost mock bowing to Frank as he welcomed him into the house they were breaking and entering into, but that was long past Frank's mind by now.

"This isn't your home, Gerard." Frank rolled his eyes, sitting down on the sofa, crossed legs, pissed off expression, and only doing so since he was certain that this place was abandoned - really, he'd gone all soft and common sensical, perhaps he needed some of this excitement, and perhaps a bit of Gerard, weird ass, trench coat boy, was all he needed right now.

"Who says?" He countered, a smirk tipping over his lips as he fell back onto the sofa opposite, legs and arms spread out across the tattered old thing like some kind of human spider, his face now fully visible as his mop of black hair fell back from his almost worryingly pale face.

Frank only scowled, perhaps just a little pissed off about how attractive this asshole was, and less concerned with the concept of breaking and entering, but he reckoned it made a good enough cover for the emotions he couldn't.

"Why so sour, Frankie?" Gerard teased, running one hand back through his hair in an almost diva like fashion, and really he was acting like one. "What have you got stuck up your ass?" It was teasing, suggestive teasing perhaps, but there was no denial in Frank's blush, especially the contrast it had against the whitewashed walls of the abandoned abode and the stone pale complexion that never fluctuated upon Gerard's face.

"Nothing." Frank muttered in response; very sour indeed, and vaguely contemplating the fact that he hadn't had anything anywhere near his ass, or anyone else's ever since he left New York, and he was almost disappointed in himself, but then again, it wasn't like the one night stand scene was booming here; the town consisted of homophobic church go-ers, sixty year old women, and Ray Toro and his boyfriend that resembled a spider in a terribly awkward manner.

"Ah, I can fix that, don't worry." And the asshole was enjoying this - messing with him, messing with his mind and messing with his emotions - fucking with him.

"Ger-" Frank began, not even sure as to how he would get annoyingly attractive trench coat boy to shut up, but he was going to try at the very least, for sure.

"Come on, baby boy, come on." Gerard winked at him, standing up, trench coat fawning out behind him as he strutted over to Frank, standing before him and running one hand messily through Frank's hair. 

"You're not being serious." And what Frank had intended as a statement, came out an awful lot like a question, because as what Frank intended to be no feelings he felt for the asshole that called himself Gerard, turned into 'oh fuck me, trench coat boy', and Gerard knew, and he knew this all too well.

Gerard only smirked, leaving it a guessing game.

Let's say trench coat boy just loved playing with his food.

-

"If you say that he's perfectly fine one more fucking time, Ray Toro, I will not hesitate to drain all the blood from you." Mikey's voice came out perhaps too harsh, but centred over his concern for Frank’s wellbeing than a finicky nature regarding his boyfriend's hurt feelings.

"Sorry." Mikey shook his head at what he'd just said - too far, he knew that just too well. "Just let me be worried, because by now, there really is something to be worried about, and maybe I'm just too caught up in the worry of what Gerard said to him, but you know what it's like here - these things happen, and Frank... Frank doesn't know anything at all..."

"I just wanted to protect him... I mean his parents died, he doesn't need anything else to worry about - he's clearly messed up enough as it is!" Ray argued his case, not entirely angry with his boyfriend, but irritable, perhaps.

"He's going to find out at this rate, regardless of what you want, Ray." Mikey shook his head at the situation before them, and the possibilities that it could spawn. "Gerard just didn't have to be the way he did."

"So what do we do, Mikey? Seeing as you seem to know everything?" The curly haired of the two rolled his eyes, grabbing his jacket from the table and pulling it on, his eyes never leaving the gaze of his boyfriend's; highlighting the tension between them. 

"Well, we go out and fucking find him and we stop whatever shit that asshole has pulled." Mikey muttered his words between hot-headed breaths born in sarcasm and tempers broken. "Or would the two of us revealing our connection to that asshole possibly be bad for the innocence you believe in with that Frank kid?"

"I just don't want to mess him up further, he doesn't need to-"

"Ray, I'm sorry, but you're being an idiot here, when he was in New York, he did drugs, got drunk, had a fuck, smoked something, and gave a blowjob to a stranger like they were his five a day, so really if you think his innocence is something you need to be concerned for here, then I'm sorry to inform you that ship sunk long ago."

"He doesn't need to worry about what those things do though, he's only here temporarily, I gathered, so-" Ray's words were cut off by the shear expression upon Mikey's pale face, and those eyes - burning up in an unnatural yellow light that he knew of and feared all too well.

"Things?" He launched his words like a hand grenade and they landed like a nuclear bomb - the impact bringing a chill in the air, and for once Ray hadn't Frank around to allow himself to mutter something about the thermostat in the belief of comforting the kid, but doing it more for himself than anything. "Nice to know what you think of me, huh?"

"No- Mikey, please, I'm sorry, you're not like him, you're not like them-" Ray's pleads were rendered nothing but useless when Mikey was in this state, and he knew this, he just wasn't quite willingly to accept it, not on his conscience's terms at the very least.

"He's, he's my brother, Ray, of course I'm fucking like him, we have the same mother, we grew up together, and oh, don't fucking worry, I'm just the same as the rest of them - a heartless, cold, bloodthirsty, vampire." He stepped forward at that moment, the distance between him and Ray falling into nothing as the owner of the beating heart tried his best to hide the fear inside of him - he'd just never been scared of Mikey before, not like this, not at all.

"You need to get your head out of dreamland, Toro, you know what it's like here, and you're being pathetic with this whole thing. Especially with this 'lying to Frank to protect him' thing, because I can see what's really happening here - you're lying to yourself here, because as much as you tell me you do, you don't expect me for who I am, you accept me for who you see and ignore the rest, and that's not something I can deal with, because you don't just get the Mikey who you sneak into your record store at night and kiss and fuck, and pretend that you're some stupid lovestruck teenager again and that nothing else matters, no."

Mikey paused, perhaps considering the fact that he had gone too far with this, but dismissing the very thought all too soon as he reached the simple realisation that perhaps he just didn't care.

"No, Ray, you get me, you get all of me: you get the vampire, you get my struggles with the species I belong to and how I hate what they do, yet I still am one, and you get the fact that I need blood to survive, and you get the fact you're not like me at all - you're human, and there's no way around that, and you get, what you really get is me worrying realistically about our friend and what my brother will not hesitate to do to him."

Ray greeted his words with nothing but silence and the struggle to breathe as he found himself unable to stop holding his breath.

"Because there are differences between Gerard and I, of course there are; there are differences between you and I, and certainly not in abundance, that's clear, but we're still brothers, and we're still the same species. I'm not fucking special, I'm not different, I'm not your special 'nice' vampire - this isn't fucking Twilight, Ray. But the one major difference, the important difference right now is that I wouldn't lay a finger on Frank, whereas Gerard is set intent upon draining him dry."

"I'm sorry, Mikey, I-" 

"I don't fucking care right now, Ray. Frank's life is probably more important right now, don't you think? Funny how that comes from me, the one of us without a beating heart, huh? Shallow, Ray, shallow." Spite trickled from his words like blood from a gushing wound, a puncture to the neck, perhaps. "What I do want though, is some sort of apology, some sort of explanation when I get back-"

"I told I'm sorry, you know I didn't mean to say something like that, Mikey, things just slip out - you know that!"

"Not for me. For Frank, and whatever blood my brother hasn't drained out of him yet."

And with that Mikey was gone, leaving Ray to sit there in the cold chill he'd left behind, and he didn't even glance at the thermostat, not even once, because Mikey was right - he was so scared, but everyday, it seemed the world gave him just another reason to be.

-

And it was all eyes upon each other: hot and heavy, and breaths held on Frank's part, and empty, unused shells of what were once lungs, which laid shrivelled up and decayed inside Gerard's body. Not a word had been spoken since, and the time seemed to pass in such a great amount that the dust which coated the rest of the house seemed to fall upon Gerard and Frank too; it ensuring that they remained there, frozen in time for entirety, eyes never leaving one another's, because, somehow, somewhere, it felt like that was something meant to be.

And Gerard knew it as soon as the met one another's gaze, and he even considered leaving the boy alone, but he was arrogant enough to not stop in his wishes for anyone, especially not the whimsical whispers of a liar by the name of fate.

"If you're going to stare like that, pretty boy." Gerard made his decision as to where he stood, and knew very well that the only team he was supporting was his own - other people and their wishes and needs, they were simply none of his business. "Then you may as well follow through with what's going through that pretty little head of yours."

"Don't call me 'pretty boy'." Frank's response was sudden, forceful, and all but expected in the calibre with which his words were annunciated; accidents were out of the question here and the look piercing through Gerard's pale skin was proof of that. "Don't fucking call me that, okay?" 

He stepped forward to the boy clad in a trench coat, ignoring the head of height he had over Frank, he met his eyes and summoned all his powers in looking intimidating, as few as they may be, they were most certainly needed in whatever numbers they possessed.

"What do you want me to call you then?" He spat back, a smirk gracing his lips, making it clear that he thought nothing of Frank’s response, intimidation, or perhaps his lack of it, aside. "Would 'whore' be more appropriate? It certainly fits that look in your eyes when you look at me, for sure."

"What the fuck do you mean by that?" Frank countered, diminishing the distance between him and the man he knew not to be Mikey's older brother even further, which although he was oblivious to at the time, was most certainly a terrible decision. "I look at you like I hate you, which right now, you know what? I'm pretty certain I fucking do - you're an asshole, Gerard. And if anyone's the whore, here, it's you."

"Hate. Hate." He ran the word over his tongue as if to give it a test run, the affects it brought out almost amusing him in a certain manner. "Hate's a funny little word, don't you think? It has many meanings, and jealous is intertwined more often that not, so I have reason to think that you don't hate me, you just hate how good I look in this shirt."

Frank could only contort his face into what resembled a disappointed scowl, bringing more of a 'what the fuck' expression upon his face that he was yet too confused to probably express: kind of similar to expression you would pull when your maths teacher puts the words 'fun' and 'homework' in the same sentence.

"So, then, only because I reckon you're pretty, I think I'll do you a favour, Frank Iero." The nineteen year old could only flinch at the word 'pretty', continuing to scowl at the trench coat clad asshole before him, as he came to consider just what he'd done to deserve his parents dying and leaving him in such a shitty little asshole breeding ground of a town. "I'll lose and perhaps you can lose your hatred and jealousy, huh?"

And Frank watched, stunned into silence as the guy, pulled off his trench coat, throwing it to the floor, followed by his shirt, discarding it in a similar procedure, and now, Frank really could not help but stare, and justified such an action with the fact that he was gay, and Gerard was now a shirtless man, despite being an asshole, but he was just such an asshole.

"So, what? Is this just about fucking me?" Frank asked, raised eyebrows posed an accompaniment, but acted more as a defence mechanism, to his words. His voice shook, however, highlighting the anxiety with which such a question was strung and he hated how there'd be no hesitation in Gerard recognising such a thing, especially when it brought him such amusement as it would.

"Vaguely, yes, overall, no." He met Frank with crypticism and a look worthy of a punch to the face, but Frank stopped himself as Gerard stepped closer, the distance between rendered non-existent, the taller of the two, pushing his forehead against Frank's, stooping a little to meet the nineteen year old's confused, and slightly wary gaze. "To put in a way that you would understand. Fucking you? Short term plan, yes, long term, most definitely not."

"I would understand?" Frank spat back, attempting to pull away from Gerard's grasp, only for the taller of the two to notice this and push Frank back against the wall, the house creaking in response, almost as if proclaiming the fact that it was old and most likely would break if they continued, but right now, neither Gerard nor Frank were listening. "What the fuck does that mean?"

"You catch on slow, Iero. It's not hard to see at all." Gerard responded, his words pushed against Frank in a similar manner with which the nineteen year old found himself pinned to the wall by a guy he hated, feared, and was horribly attracted to.

It seemed right now, though, that the latter definitely outweighed everything else by far.

"What about? The fact you want me, the fact you just can't live without having me, you want me against your sheets and you want me to scream out your name, because dear Gerard, you need me. So, honestly, if you want any of that, you better be good." 

Frank's words left an impact to say the least, and most significantly upon Gerard's ego: no one had ever stood up to him before like that, and he wasn't quite so sure he liked it, but to hear Frank talk to him like that, the content of his words were rendered rather irrelevant entirely.

"Don't tell me what to do, Iero. I'm in charge, here."

"Is that so?" Frank let a chuckle slip his lips, ignoring the fact he was currently pinned against the wall of a house they had trespassed into.

"Says the guy I've pinned against a fucking wall." Gerard rolled his eyes, a smirk toying at his lips as he continued. "Come try take me down like this, pretty boy."

And that was all it took for Frank to discard the pissed off outlook he held regarding the situation for one of true passion and anger intertwined. "I told you not to call me that!"

Gerard, however, let arrogance get the better of him and thought it better to silence the boy in his protests with pushing his lips upon Frank's, taking charge immediately and ignoring the nineteen year old's lack of response.

Frank was frozen; his heart beating a thousand times a minute and his respiration slow and rendered almost unresponsive just by a pair of so incredibly cold lips pressed against his. He just didn't know how to react- well, he did, he just couldn't: he wouldn't allow himself to, because the only viable option in Frank's mind was to kiss Gerard back.

Yet, he never quite got to give into such an option as a bang and footsteps at the threshold of the house signalled that they were in fact not alone.


	9. In Which Bert McCracken Compares Himself To Alice From Twilight

"Gerard." Mikey's voice was low and harsh, almost a growl, and Gerard jumped at the sob, knowing the presence that had joined them instantly and hating him from the very word go, but for Frank it was all confusion and whirlwind, and a smell on Gerard that he couldn't quite trace, yet couldn't quite help but fall for.

"Michael, dear. I think you were interrupting us, and I'm sure your absence would be well appreciated." Gerard stepped forward to his brother, coy smile worn upon his lips like he knew nothing else, and Mikey fought the urge not to punch his brother in the face, of course only with the knowledge, that Gerard would, punch him back harder.

"Frank, come on, stay away from him, he's-" Mikey gritted his teeth, raking his gaze over his brother, shirtless, dark hair flailing everywhere, and scowling as one word just couldn't make his way past his lips.

"I'm what? Trouble? A monster? A whore? What will it be this time? An asshole? Dangerous?" Gerard only scoffed taking far too much advantage over Mikey's adamancy in silence, and how Ray had ensured that today he just couldn't continue and insult his brother, he just needed Frank, and he just needed to be safe so they could go, and then Gerard could forget all about the nineteen year old, but nothing was quite that simple and sometimes Mikey wished he was stupid so he could convince himself of such things.

"Frank, just please, let's go." Mikey gestured awkwardly to the nineteen year old almost sheltered and cowering behind Gerard, who stood tall and proud in front of him, almost as if he owned the boy.

"He's staying with me, Michael, I thought we made that clear." Gerard's pale face parted to allow a smirk to take the prime spot upon his face, as he knew very well that by now, he'd won, and his brother was nothing more than hopeless in his attempts in chasing after him and picking up the pieces.

"Don't fucking 'Michael' me." Mikey snapped: all at once, and like a glass dropped to the floor and shattered, the pieces went everywhere. "Leave him alone - we've spoken about this. Just, anyone, anyone but him. It sounds heartless but Gerard, just this once, please."

Gerard's smirk only transformed into a grin, taking over his face with a simple answer to provide for his brother. "No."

"Ger-"

It was then that Frank popped in, his vocal chords cleansed, and somehow finally having found the capability to speak instead of just looking all wide eyes, scared and intimidated between Mikey and Gerard. "What's going on? Seriously. No one ever fucking tells me anything. What is fucking going on?"

Gerard just laughed: a full blown laugh - half giggle, half witchy cackle, and Mikey scowled like hell, yet neither of the brothers found it within them to provide poor Frank with an answer.

"Fine. Mikey, I'm not coming with you until you explain." Frank took a stand with Gerard, and perhaps entirely the wrong stand, because it was at that moment that Gerard knew that Frank was his and there really was no turning back.

"Your silence is fine with me, Michael. I'd just prefer it if you didn't stare; Frank and I have personal matters to attend to." Gerard's words came off with a smirk almost as a sort of add on effect, and it only of course added to how much Mikey wanted to punch him in the face.

Mikey didn't though, and perhaps he even regretted it, but with the silent looks shared around and the hatred passed around like free alcohol at a party, perhaps not even a broken bone could break the tension.

"Gerard." Mikey posed his words perhaps as a warning but really by now they'd gone long past warnings and even second chances, but Mikey still couldn't admit that he was still too scared of his brother to really do anything about the way the dark haired boy stood in front of Frank.

And of course, the possibility that Ray was even right, and the situation in which he might even have to consider admitting that.

"Frank, come on, please." Perhaps that was just a last ditch effort and perhaps it would have worked but Frank was far too stubborn of his distrust of everyone right now, because this abundance of answers was really driving him crazy.

"What's going on?” Frank was adamant as he stood pressed up against the wall and closer to and perhaps even more trusting of Gerard than Mikey and for entirely all the wrong reasons.

"Look, Ray's going to tell you if you please just-" This was most definitely Mikey's last, last ditch effort and the pleading tone in his voice accompanied with those doe eyes only served as amusement for Gerard's sadistic tendencies.

"Michael, please. This is just getting pathetic now, come on, leave us be, brother dear." Frank flushed at the word 'brother', nervous glances transferred like handshakes as his gaze flashed between Gerard and Mikey, confusion only growing and bubbling away with no hope of release or escape.

"Frank can make his own decisions." Mikey stood firm, almost naive in the belief that the nineteen year old would follow him like some sort of puppy dog with no real reason or need for explanation, and perhaps just blindly wishing that Frank would be clever enough not to listen to Gerard.

"Yeah," Gerard let a grin slip his lips: all pointed white teeth and mad eyes, shining like headlights in the shadows that fell like dust over the corners. "He can."

Silence. A never ending silence, the silence of melancholy, and the silence of unresolved tensions; the silence was everything, yet nothing was to be said. Silence - just silence.

Gazes spoke in the place of words with both Gerard and Mikey's gazes fixated almost scrutinisingly upon Frank, the nineteen year old's cheeks burning up as his gaze hit the floor and his ears filled with a terrible ringing, as he considered his choices, and the decision that would ruin everything.

Frank knew that if he were going to fail, he would have to fail spectacularly though.

"I'm going to stay with Gerard." 

The silence was deafening at first, almost multiplied by ten, until Mikey was all feet loud against the floor: a beeline to his brother, fists clenched and intentions nothing more than horrific, and things only went downhill from there; Gerard pinning him up against the wall all wide eyes bright and hateful, teeth bared, fingers gripped tight into Mikey's shirt, not caring about the marks they'd make, and hate, hate of the highest calibre, and the silence not gone, lingering, cowering in the corner, taking the words of Frank Iero to break it.

"Stop-" Frank's words served no purpose as Gerard pushed Mikey back against the wall, stepping away as his brother almost fell in shock, and the older of the two just fell back away into the shadows, retreating deeper into the darkness until he simply disappeared completely, and perhaps it would have even gone unnoticed if Frank wasn't staring all wide eyed and tongue tied.

Yet it was only then that Mikey came to realise that Gerard hadn't simply surrendered, letting Mikey win just once, he'd simply left Mikey the responsibility of the explanation and a fired up Frank in the hands of the spindly legged, overwhelmed younger brother who had only wanted to keep his boyfriend happy.

It was rather clever really, because Gerard had painted Mikey as the liar and the faker: the villain, almost, and with the look in Frank's eyes and the decision he tried to make, this wasn't a white flag of surrender Gerard was waving before retreating, this was victory, a smug, irritatingly clever, recognition of it.

Gerard always won.

-

Bob Bryar walked around the streets like he owned the whole fucking town, and in a way, he did.

Bob knew how things worked around here and h knew the way people ticked, which made for getting his way a particularly easy feat to accomplish, yet he never quite needed to cheat people all that often, not recently anyway; the town had been quiet for a while now, and perhaps, dare he say it, Bob reckoned it had been quite for all too long.

It had been long enough for this to be an extended period of silence that creeped you out enough to long for the screaming back, and not that Bob wanted to say he did, he really kind of did. Bob had nothing to do in silence, other than sort out the rogue asshole bothering Ray Toro and his little music shop, but that was nothing like he was trained to do.

He could take out hordes, and he could end wars; arrogance may be overstepping rationality here, but Bob even reckoned he could take out the whole problem in this town, but there was one rule that Bob Bryar lived by, and that was that he never started wars, he only ended them, because as horrific and animalistic as the creatures that hid away in the shadows were, they still lived and they still breathed and he didn't want to justify genocide. With the amount of shit he's already lived through, he doubted that his conscience could even take it.

He was only protecting Ray, though, so that was justified, and if it came down to it then perhaps he'd slay the thing, but that was only if it sprang itself upon them, if it almost brought the punishment upon itself. He would not go looking for it; he would not go looking for trouble.

He was just looking out for Ray and solidifying another alliance, because when this whole place turned to shit and the shadows stepped out into the light, and the residents came to be aware of all that really lurked in them, then they'd have chaos: true, utter chaos, and that was when Bob wanted to be assured of his safety and power, and stupid little favours for people seemed to do the trick rather nicely.

However, that did leave him do favours for the shadowlurkers too, and although less menial and tedious than the tasks set by the living, they most certainly were in no way pleasant, and tending to be all the more of a violent nature.

The shadowlurker community was falling apart by itself: corruption and chaos thriving in the shadow without scrutiny or prevention, and often Bob found himself as the keeper of the peace, desperately trying to hold things together, and perhaps even live through it as well, because perhaps the only thing stopping full scale war was the unspoken treaty of protection and peace that had been made almost hundreds of years ago now.

He even doubted if many knew of it today, only following the instinct set in stone, and watching what he ensured happened to the rogues and troublemakers, but war would soon break some day, because one little asshole was going to get trigger happy, one little asshole was going to take one of the other as their own, and let the shadows loose in daylight.

And that was a mess Bob did not want to clean up after - the blood would really be everywhere.

Perhaps the worst thing, even, would be perhaps that this little asshole may even be ignorant to what they were about to do, capturing one of the enemy, for perhaps just a trophy or the bragging rights, and not the chaos and conflict that an unbroken treaty would let loose.

That was the only reason he let them feed upon hunters. The eager type of course, not just the clever, casual slayers, but the sadistic, naive, little pricks, that thought such a thing to be a hobby: the slay and run kind of type, or even worse, the capture and torture kind of type, because they were quite literally going to get the whole town killed.

Hunters were generally quite easy to take care of though, as they tended to be not the brightest bunch, and were relatively easy to scare off, despite their job description, which was even irony Bob found himself able to laugh at.

It was the shadowlurkers that he had to worry about: the rogues that couldn't quite be stopped, and took humans as their own keep or slave, or whatever fucked up thing they fancied, and of course, the rogues tended to be awfully good at hiding; their own community weren't particularly fond of them either, as they were really nothing but notorious for causing trouble.

It was just what kind of trouble one particular one might cause that might bring hell to the whole town, and bloodshed, bloodshed beyond imagine, and in turn some cleaning up that Bob Bryar would not be doing.

"You look like shit." The words almost caught him off guard in the darkness: the speaker familiar from the very first word, and a smile falling onto Bob's lips as he shook his head in friendly disbelief. "You are a piece of shit, though, so I guess it's accurate. How's saving the entire fucking world going, Bryar?"

"Not as easy as you would think, McCracken." Bert let his lips fall into an almost sleazy grin at Bob's response, stepping out of the shadows and into Bob's stride as they walked, small talk or even explanation unnecessary between them. "How's getting laid going?"

"Admittedly, harder than I first thought-" Bob broke into a sneer at that, Bert flashing his 'I hate you' eyes without need for explanation. "Because everyone here's a fucking senior citizen, and it's not my fault, shut up."

"Can you not foretell the future and who you'll fuck?" Bob teased, grabbing a cigarette from his jacket pocket and lighting it, ignoring Bert's unspoken request for one and roll of eyes that came with the silence, Bert forking out and lighting a cigarette of his own.

"Nah, of course not." He exhaled with the smoke, ignoring the several minute gap in conversation as if it didn't even exist. "I'm like Alice from Twilight; I can only predict the future when it's relevant to the plot."

"You’re not even trying to make me believe that you actually have these visions and shit today, what's wrong with you?" Bob shrugged off his words in a jokey manner, his genuine concern for Bert hidden well under layers of sarcasm and almost ironic skepticism.

"They don't make sense today: my head still spins but all I see is darkness and shadows, and it just hurts, like I usually see something, even if it's fucking useless, it's something, but this is just nothing, and perhaps I miss it a little."

"What do you want me to do about it? Buy you some new fucking tea leaves?" Bob laughed it off with that weird belly laugh that never ceased to make everything awkward and everyone including Bob himself feel terribly uncomfortable.

"Not how it works, asshole. Just happens; I just see things, and they just happen to, well... happen." Perhaps that wasn't the best way to word it but Bert reckoned he didn't really care.

"Tell me if you see anything about this kid, Frank, though. Ray's worried about him, and when Ray's worried, you know he's not going to leave me alone until that shit's sorted." Bob didn't exactly trust Bert's visions, but he reckoned they were better than nothing, and he wasn't quite stupid enough to dismiss everything in favour of skepticism, anyway, he lived here - how could he?

"Frank Iero?"

"You've seen something?" Bob stopped all at once, all excitement and wide eyes, praying to himself that the news wouldn't be bad; because that really wasn't something he was all too keen upon explaining to Ray.

"No, I've just met him about. He passed out the other day actually and I took him back to my place- Bob, shut up, it wasn't a pedophilic thing and I didn't sleep with him. We met before at the church, actually, you know-"

"What the fuck were you doing at church?" Bob snorted, rolling his eyes at the thought.

"Passing time, talking to Jesus and shit, you know - hate to admit it but the place has good vibes-"

"What? So you're getting your feng shui on over there?"

"It was you that asked me about the kid in the first place, Bryar." Bert rolled his eyes, exhaling a puff of cigarette smoke as the two of them approached Bert's house. "You wanna come in for a drink or something?"

"I've got business, unfortunately. Or fortunately, considering how much milk you put in coffee." Bob rolled his eyes, holding his cigarette between his lips before rummaging his hands deep inside his pockets: searching for something, and to no avail. "Fucking thieving assholes."

"What?"

"My ballpoint pen: the good one with the clip top that stayed down, you know-"

"I thought it was something important then, asshole." Bert rolled his eyes, unlocking his front door, giving Bob a wave and a playful puff of cigarette before disappearing inside.

Bob sighed to himself, mourning the loss of his favourite ballpoint pen, ready to make his way back to Ray's and chance an unbearable explanation, until Bert practically fell back out his front door: wide eyes, limbs sprawling everywhere, yet mainly in Bob's direction in a beeline for the overwhelmed man stood before him.

"Fuck..." He drew the word out, clutching out Bob's shoulders in a terribly homosexual manner, yet Bob felt more creeped out than aroused so it was all good. "I saw... I saw.... I had- I saw... him, Iero, I... he's... not good, Bob, not good-"

"For fuck's sake, what do you mean?" Bob snapped, pushing Bert forward back into his house as he reckoned that perhaps for whatever this was he would indeed have to brave the horrors of Bert McCracken's overly milky coffee.

"I had another vision." Bert exclaimed, finally sat down in a chair, leaving Bob to lock the door behind them in protection from axe murderers and other things less easy to joke about in such a town. 

"Yeah, I got that from the face that looked like a squirrel had just taken you up the ass and given you rabies." Bob rolled his eyes, putting the kettle on before sitting down beside the slightly traumatised and still freakily wide eyed Bert McCracken.

"There's one of them, and he's got dark hair and a trenchcoat and he's with Frank- well, not with, he's watching him, he's stalking him... hunting, but he's not biting, he's almost, he's... waiting, for something. I don't understand what or why, but he's waiting."

"Do you have any fucking idea regarding the time frame of this?" Bob, of course, took what was a long shot, because Bert never did: these visions could range from the next few minutes to next year.

"I can't put it on a timeline, it's just everywhere, it's like it's not even fixed, or real, but it is- god, fuck, he's covering his tracks - the thing, he, I don't know how, but he knows I've seen him, and fuck, is he coming after me now, Bob?"

"With the silver on your door not a chance he's getting in, don't worry, but I'm sticking around for sure, because it seems like we've got a fish stupid enough to take the bait." The kettle boiled with a click and their eyes met in a knowing silence. "Fuck, I'm not doing it - I lost my pen, and you didn't care."

"But-"

"My ballpoint pen."

"Fine."

-

"Frank, please-" Mikey's words were of course to no avail as the nineteen year old walked off like Mikey was his mother and his words were of any reason whatsoever. "Let me explain-"

"Go on, then, because you don't pretty much fucking anything but that, haven't you?" Frank rolled his eyes, walking away from Mikey and into the shadows, which in spite of his ignorance was still probably the worst decision he could ever make.

"You'll hate me!" Mikey exclaimed, wishing Ray was here so he could at least pin some of the blame on him.

"Guess fucking what? I already do."

"You won't believe me if I tell you, though, will you?" Mikey pleaded, begged, even, hating to say it aloud, hating to admit what he was, what Gerard was, perhaps out of shame, or perhaps out of fear, or even the laughter that he was sure Frank would follow it up with.

"Fucking try me." Frank snapped, standing still in the alleyway, their eyes locking, and Frank choosing what could possibly be the most pretentious manner in which he could assure Mikey that he hated him in.

"The only reason you weren't told from like the word 'go' was Ray, you know. I wanted to tell you; you needed to know, but Ray had all this savouring your innocence bullshit going on, and I didn't want to fuck with that, considering that you were his friend, and- and... now this is just hard, because you're angry, and you'll jump to conclusions and you won't understand."

"Should've thought about that before pissing me off then." Came Frank's voice: no remorse, no care, no feelings, and thankfully Mikey had no heart for him to break.

"Can we just talk about this back at the shop where Ray can back me up, please?" Mikey knew this wouldn't get anywhere at all, but if anything, it bought him some time before the inevitability of him being punched in the face reared its ugly head.

"How about this?" Frank rolled his eyes at Mikey's almost expectantly hopeful gaze. "No."

"Fine, you know what? You know what, Frank? Gerard and I are fucking brothers and you know what we are, Frank? Do you know, do you fucking want to know?"

"Get to the goddamn point-"

"We're fucking vampires, Frank, are you fucking happy, huh?"

And for the first time, Frank was utterly silent.

"He's right, you know." And there came the voice that broke the silence as Gerard seemed to step right out of the darkness: eyes glowing, fangs bared as he smirked at Frank's wide eyes and dropped jaw. "Close your mouth though, Frank, or I'll be awfully tempted to put those lips to a good use-"

"Gerard-"

"Fuck off back to your boyfriend, Michael, see if he'll give you a blowjob, huh, keep those lips from complaining?" And for once, Mikey did as he was told, more so for fear of being forced to witness his brother fuck Frank's mouth, even if that was a stupid decision, he could only hope that Frank was freaked out enough to be pissed at Gerard too.

"That's.... that's... just..." Frank drew the words from his lips as he stood in shock as Mikey disappeared into the shadows, turning his gaze to Gerard with an almost intrigued fourth grader kind of expression painted on.

"I don't sparkle though, unfortunately."

"Wait... wait, what the fuck? Wait, that thing about human blood..." Frank's eyes widened as he began to pick up the pieces.

"Yeah, guess that's kind of awkward now, huh?"

Frank could only stare, almost rooted to the spot, his eyes locked upon Gerard's as he found himself still unable to quite believe it.

It couldn’t be true? Surely?

Common sense.... then again, common sense was just about the last thing that applied in this town, and apparently, vampires did.

-


	10. Bert McCracken The Cockblock Police

"You just left him? With your brother? Are you stupid, Mikey?" Ray couldn't quite believe what he'd heard as his boyfriend returned with absolutely no sign of Frank whatsoever and an explanation that seemed to cause more problems than it solved.

"I told him." Ray looked up at that moment: all wide eyes, not quite meeting Mikey's, and a silence that lasted all too long indeed. "He hates me, of course, and Gerard's got this plotted down to absolute perfect and has therefore ensured that Frank absolutely loves him no matter what he is, and that I am of course the fucking antichrist here."

"You could have at least tried-"

"Don't even fucking start, Toro. I tried everything and still whatever I do, it's never good enough and whatever fucking bullshit Gerard does, no matter how messed up, it's always just perfect. I don't even fucking care about Frank anymore - he can ruin his own life if he damn well wants to." And with that Mikey barged into the back of the shop, falling down onto the sofa besides the mini fridge that Ray mainly used to store beer, and before he knew what was happening, he was fucking crying, and his whole world was falling apart because this was just something that he couldn't deal with.

"Mikey..." It didn't take long for Ray to compose himself before following his boyfriend round into the back, reflecting perhaps on the fact that maybe he had gone just too far, and abandoning Frank and the state of danger he really was in right now in favour of his boyfriend, because Ray really couldn't look Mikey in the eyes right now and tell him that he'd never messed up in their relationship.

"Go away..." Mikey mumbled into a pillow, Ray ignoring his request entirely as he sat down beside his boyfriend, leaving Mikey to catch his gaze and accept that Ray was not just going to 'go away' like this.

"I'm sorry." Ray whispered, playing with Mikey's hair, and the silence with which such a confession came was enough for them, for a while at least, because Ray could hardly spend more than five minutes without worrying about something or someone: the someone happening to be Frank.

"Should I just call Bob and ask him to sort out the whole problem with Frank?" Ray asked Mikey, who had just about fallen asleep where he now lay across the sofa with his head in Ray's lap.

He jerked up at that very moment, his eyes, brighter than usual, meeting Ray's with a look almost not placeable. "No. You know Bob will kill Gerard on sight and as much as I hate him, he is still my brother, and I would still mind if I had nothing left of the asshole he was."

"If he wasn't your brother, would you let me?" Mikey was quite sure where Ray was going with this at first, meeting him with a questionable gaze before an answer, but the answer came in eventuality nonetheless.

"Yeah." Mikey bit down on his lip as he spoke, hating how heartless he sounded, because although arrogant it did indeed sound, he didn't want to be quite like the rest of them; he wanted dignity at the very least, because at least he still reckoned there was a chance of peace in the town. "I would, but he is, so don't."

"I'm really worried about Frank, though." Ray couldn't help but continue; Mikey knew all too well that once Ray had started worrying, there wasn't a chance in hell that he was going to stop.

"You're really worried about everything, Ray." Mikey told him, but the comfort in his words was pretty much non-existent, as it seemed almost irrelevant, and if anything, taunting to the curly haired of the two.

"For a reason." He met his boyfriend's gaze as he spoke, emphasising his words via the medium of over exaggerated glances and glares. "Frank's in danger and you know it more than anyone: you know what Gerard's like, and you know that we can't just leave him, I mean what-"

Mikey sat as Ray began to properly freak out, sitting up beside his boyfriend on the sofa and pulling his arm around Ray's shoulders, pulling him in closer. "Don't freak out, please, Ray." He met his eyes at that moment: Ray's widened and pupils increased to unhealthy dimensions. "What do you want to do about Frank?"

"I want to call Bob, you know that." Ray admitted, his tone, perhaps a little harsh, but his words with meaning that required conveying.

Mikey bit his lip, looking down for a moment before he continued, "Gerard's my brother. I just can't do that to him - condemn him to death, you know that, don't you?" Ray nodded, letting him continue without much of an interruption. "Do you want to go out and find them? The two of us? Then you can ensure I do things right." Mikey played that last sentence off as a bit of a joke, but Ray shook his head, not in regards to the question Mikey had asked, but the way his words had been constructed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything like that: it's hard for you and I want to understand that, but sometimes, I just can't, mainly because I'm not you and it's just the same way in which that I wouldn't imagine you being able to decipher every thought drifting through my head."

"It's okay. I'm sorry for what I said too." Mikey exhaled, pressing his lips to Ray's: short and sweet yet more meaningful than anything else before. "We're good, aren't we?"

"Always." Ray nodded with a smile that could convince the President himself.

"What about Frank?" Mikey almost tip-toed around the question for a few moments, his voice shaking a little as he strung out the words, perhaps just a little in fear of Ray's reaction and what would and could possibly come of it, because if he messed things up with Ray, then Mikey reckoned that nothing would be right at all.

Ray looked up at Mikey with that same smile once more, before standing up and reaching for his boyfriend's hand, pulling Mikey up too, their gazes meeting like clockwork. "I guess we'll just have to go and sort this mess out. I kind of created it - it's kind of my fault, I guess. I ought to clean it up."

"It's not." Mikey assured him, not even letting the thought cross Ray's mind for more than a moment.

"But-"

"It's not." Mikey repeated himself, smirking just a little as they stepped out of the record store Ray owned, the cold seeming to wrap itself around them as they did so. "Come on."

-

"So do you have like.... fangs?" Frank asked, his eyes widening like an excited child at the prospect, meeting Gerard's as the vampire rolled his eyes, the two of them walking through the alleyways in such a casual manner that Frank had barely noticed at all; Gerard, however, knew exactly where they were going and what was going to happen when they got there.

Gerard bared his teeth at Frank who giggled a little, almost blushing, and for what reason his sanity dare not investigate. "So I guess you have trouble giving hickeys then?"

"The only person in trouble is the guy receiving them." Gerard smirked, imagining Frank's neck all marked up and bloody, his lips scrambling for air only to choke upon Gerard's name as he screamed out for him, unable to breathe or think rationality as his whole body throbbed with lust and desire.

"Guy?" Frank picked up on the male pronoun Gerard used: perhaps even Frank's favourite part of the sense, not that he tended to have favourite parts of sentences - he reckoned he wasn't quite that weird.

"Yeah, guy." Gerard repeated, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he continued. "I assume you don't have trouble giving hickeys then?"

Frank blushed instantly at even the notion that a particularly attractive guy was asking him about his preferences regarding hickeys. "I... uhh.. I don't really give people hickeys all that often I guess."

"You just get them, huh?" Gerard raised his eyebrows, stopping right then and meeting Frank's gaze; the conversation topic obviously far too important for them to even consider approach whilst walking. Frank nodded in response: a blush never leaving his cheeks, yet a small almost innocent smile never leaving his lips. "So? What about up the ass? You just get it too?"

At this point Frank's cheeks were practically on fire, but he did have to admit Gerard really had exquisitely planned out his discovering of Frank's sexual preferences, which was something the younger of the two still hadn't quite figured out if he minded yet. "Yeah... I guess... not as often as I get hickeys though; I do at least take a look at the dude's face before they fuck me."

"Of course." He chuckled a little too himself, walking forward once more and leaving Frank, cheeks still on fire, to trail on behind almost like some sort of little lost and vaguely horny puppy.

"Any reason you're asking me what I like in bed, huh? Gerard?" Frank couldn't deny the smirk playing at his lips, because if there was anyone he wanted to fuck him, it was most definitely the trenchcoat clad man walking just a few steps in front of him, and unaware to Frank, figuratively too.

"I'm asking for a friend." Gerard could barely get his words out without a snort or too, relying on an almost comedically overused middle school esque excuse that even Frank could sniff out.

"And what friend would that be?" Frank asked, playing along with Gerard's little tale, and for what reason, he really just couldn't place, perhaps it was just the fact that he really, really, really liked Gerard, and his head was almost freaking about at what to do about that: it had barely even been more than a fuck for Frank for a long time - Alex perhaps being the only exception, but even compared to Alex, Gerard was still just absolutely something else.

"Oh, you know, the main one."

"Fuck off." Frank burst out in giggles, rolling his eyes at Gerard, who in turn burst into laughter at Frank's naivety, and he almost felt a wave of guilt about what he was about to do to the poor, stupidly cute nineteen year old, because maybe Mikey was right and maybe perfect little Frankie didn't deserve it, but Gerard reckoned that Frank was far too perfect to ever let go and what he was about to do ensured that he never would.

"You wanna know something, Frankie?" Gerard asked, husky undertones in his voice as he turned the 'charm' on - it didn't seem to make all that much of a difference with already lovestruck Frank, though.

"Go on." Frank whined, rolling his eyes, stopping the both of them and meeting Gerard's eyes, almost as if he had expectations of what was about to happen, and Gerard couldn't help but find such a thing kind of cute, even.

"I think you're beautiful." Gerard admitted, and for once he found himself to be telling nothing but the truth, with even no question as to what Frank Iero had done to him on his lips, and perhaps it should have been there, but perhaps neither cared right now.

"I think you're beautiful, too." Frank admitted, blushing far more than Gerard, the vampire's skin alabaster in nature, yet blue toned enough to disguise such reddening of the cheeks with relative ease in what could only be described as an advantage.

And then before Frank could even comprehend as to what was happening, he was pinned against the brick wall between two buildings, hidden in the shadows with Gerard's body pressed against his, their lips meeting like this was nothing, Frank's heart beating enough for the two of them, and Gerard's not beating at all.

"Wait, that's him! Hey, Frank Iero." The two sprung apart as a voice emerged from the light, shining a torch beam into the shadows and Gerard hissing a little at the unexpected stream of light, leaving Frank pinned up against the brick wall, shamelessly intimidated and terribly confused.

"Who the fuck are you? We were busy, if you didn't mind-" Gerard cared to comment, arrogance almost drowning out any prior meaning his words held, yet the two figures that had approached them didn't at all seem to care.

"I'm Bob fucking Bryar, asshole."

"Bert McCracken - cockblock police, keep it PG-13, kids."

-

"Wait? Is that him? Is that them?" Mikey's voice came out with a certain uncertainty, and Ray felt no need to immediately respond, his eyes focused upon the four figures stood half in the light and half in the shadows; he knew Mikey could see them better than him, and therefore trusted in his judgement, even if he was nothing but naive in doing so. Ray reckoned he owed at least his naivety to Mikey Way at this point, not that he should have owed him anything at all, perhaps not anything other than an apology, but Ray always felt that actions spoke louder than words.

"Just fuck off? How about that?" Sure enough that was Gerard, and the two of them knew it far sooner than they would have liked to, but at least they lived in the privilege of certainty.

"That's him." Ray seemed to just narrate for the sake of it, and Mikey barely even acknowledged his boyfriend's words, not at all in any matter of hatred of distaste, but perhaps just out of the obvious nature of Ray's exclamation.

"Nah, I'm not sure we, will, huh, Bert, what do you think?"

"Fuck, that's Bob!" Mikey exclaimed, his eyes growing wide as they met with Ray's, and suspicions of the outcome of this encounter loomed. "Fuck, that's Bob, fuck what do we do?" He hissed his words in Ray's direction, and as he received no response, just as Ray was in sheer shock of the situation, Mikey decided to take matters and stupidity into his own hands: stepping forward and where the four could see him, leaving Ray to follow behind in almost a defeated, yet ignorantly loyal manner.

"Mikey?" Frank exclaimed, still entirely confused by the situation and just how everyone else beside him seemed to know exactly what was going on, and right then he didn't even care that he was supposed to hate Mikey right now; Frank was never that good when it came to holding grudges anyway. "What's going on? Why does nobody ever tell me?'

And perhaps just then Mikey couldn't help but turn to Ray, and perhaps then Ray couldn't just help but panic and turn to Bob, who realised Bert would offer no explanation and gave up, meeting Frank's eyes, the explanation almost seeming to hitch in his throat at the expression Gerard passed in his direction, and Bob seemed to freeze entirely for a good few moments, and Frank felt like punching someone or most probably himself in the face.

"What do you want from him, Gerard?" Bob asked, tone snide yet serious in the answer he wished to receive, and at first the dark haired vampire seemed almost astounded that such a question had even left Bob's lips in the first place.

"What do you think, Robert?" Gerard's attempt to intimidate Bob by addressing his via his full name fell flat on its face completely as it left nothing more than awkward stares and Frank continued wanting to punch someone in the face, and probably now in the balls too.

"Don't call him that - my name's Robert, well Bert, but..." Bert trailed off, catching Frank's eyes and pulling his gaze away seconds after because from the way Frank was indeed looking at him, he felt nothing but terribly uncomfortable.

"We're friends because we're both called Robert but not, basically." Bob added, awkward smiles exchanged as the subject travelled almost comedically off topic. "Yeah, well that's irrelevant and please stop in those shitty attempts at intimidating me, Gerard, and spit that shit out or I'm going to give it my best guess and tell Frank that, and I won't make it pretty or sugar coat it like you most likely will."

"Will someone please fucking tell me what's going on?" Frank exclaimed almost as a last bet, and perhaps he didn't even expect a response at that point, but for the first time he got one, perhaps not a direct one, but at this point, it was more than good enough for Frank.

"Gerard will." And that was the response Frank received, from Bob and indirect as well, but suddenly all eyes were on the trenchcoat clad, undead, of the group, and Frank didn't care at all at this point, because by this point he really didn't know what to think.

He trusted Gerard, well he thought; Gerard was really attractive, and he really seemed to like Frank so everything seemed to be absolutely perfect in that department, but Frank couldn't help but trust Bob, after all, they were now eternally binded in friendship after Bob had allowed Frank to smoke his weed, like seriously there was no way either of them were getting out of such an endless state of loyalty.

"I want to have sex with you, Frank." Gerard exclaimed, sighing as if it was some big deal and Frank only looked at him strangely, because he thought that was just kind of a given. "I do that kind of thing with a lot of people, I fuck with a lot of people, I mess with a lot of people. I mess up a lot of people."

"Is that really it, Gerard?" Bob's eyes widened, almost struggling to take Gerard's words as gospel: his common sense screamed nothing but liar, but the sincerity with which the dark haired undead boy had uttered the words was just unmistakeable.

"Yeah, I like him - he's too pretty, I mean I don't want to hurt him, not right now anyway." Gerard blushed a little, hidden by his skin tone, but he felt it, because he couldn't help but admit that at least a part of that sense was unquestionably true.

"That's okay, I mean as long as you don't hurt me." Frank piped up after a while, his words almost anxious in the manner with which they were uttered, directed at Gerard like no one else existed, and perhaps the two would have kissed if they didn't have quite an audience, so Gerard just smiled, and Frank grinned like hell, Bert didn't seem to care, and Bob just scowled, leaving Ray gripping Mikey's hand in conflicted concern.

And Mikey remained silent even in the obvious lies his brother told, putting Frank at risk, and letting the nineteen year old believe every word Gerard uttered, because no matter how many sins Gerard committed, how many people he hurt, Mikey could never quite condemn his brother to the justice and punishment he deserved, because from Bob it would just be sudden death, and Mikey knew that, and he was far too scared to accept that, because always, Gerard was still his big brother.

-


	11. Are You Count Dracula Or More Like Edward Cullen?

Bob knew that perhaps he had indeed made the worst of mistakes in trusting either of the Way brothers, but kindness did seem to cling to you the longer you spent on this side of the town; he knew all too well that kindness lay in an absolute abundance in their territory, and at least that brought forth the zero tolerance for troublemakers policy, but it most certainly did not benefit the ones unlucky enough to be preyed upon.

He knew that they, or at least the authority: the voices that were heard, didn't want a war as much as the living, so at least there were promises like that to act as therapy for his conscience, but Bob knew he could never truly trust anyone here - human or otherwise.

The place they had agreed to meet was secluded: the cluster of trees near the graveyard, yet outside of its gates, and outside of its power: you didn't go inside that place for a very good reason, and yet Bob couldn't help but feel just a little nervous, and he couldn't help but cling to the wooden shaft of a stake in his jacket pocket.

Perhaps it was a stupid precaution and unnecessary too, but Bob wasn't taking any chances here, especially being just so close to this place. He even wondered if its effects grew like clawed hands, grasping out of the gates and reaching for innocent and uneducated passers-by; he'd heard that the worst fates were reserved for those that strayed in places they shouldn't.

Their community was one of such spite in which the stupid were punished, not taught, and the fear based dictatorship served as education for the others, and the naive and innocent didn't make it very far at all. It was cruel, for sure, but it counted as nothing in comparison to just half of what they were capable of, and with such a thought in mind, Bob never let his hand let slip on the stake as he waited in the dawn; the time of day giving him a small advantage in the time constraints of their meeting for the other party, at the very least.

This however, could of course, be turned on him, because their intelligence and cunning was something you should never doubt, and Bob knew all too well that there weren't stories of such naiveties because people never quite lived long enough to tell such tales.

He couldn't help but be just a little nervous, of course, his faith - whatever was left of it; the church did fuck all in this town, and a belief in God did nothing when the antichrist was all too very real. Whatever was left of his faith was the only thing Bob Bryar had to cling to right now and even then he knew it could very easily be deemed nothing but worthless at the cold hands of someone whose heart no longer cared to beat, and someone whose blood was not their own, but the blood they stole off the weak and the living.

"Oh so you did indeed decide to grace me with your presence, Bryar." He was caught a little off guard by the cold and almost pretentious voice that seemed to make its way through the shadows first: a body following behind. "It seems the living are not all such cowards as the stories make them out to be."

"You have stories?" Bob raised his eyebrows as he found himself in a state of perplexation; both eyes focused upon the tall and almost scrawny figure before him: dressed in a black suit leaving nothing besides the utterly sickly pale complexion to show his state of death.

"Don't we all?" He mused, a chuckle gracing his lips as he narrowed the distance between himself and the man who called himself this town's protector; he must say he did admire the arrogance needed to put such a title upon oneself. "What are we all without stories? What are we without the things to haunt our nightmares and the things to grace our dreams? What are we without the shivers on our spine around a campfire? And what are we without that fear that keeps us running when we think we hear footsteps behind us out alone at night?" He let his face carve itself into almost a theatrically overdramatic smirk. "What are we, Mr Bryar? What are we without stories?"

"Bored?" Bob chanced, unsure as to what his point was here and as to why he insisted upon moving dramatically with every word he said; it was intimidation but to an almost pathetic degree.

"Seems the ones about stupidity were true." He muttered under his breath, smirk catching as his lips as if with grappling hooks. "But without stories, Mr Bryar, we are nothing, because we are all stories, aren't we, Mr Bryar? The undead, the ones without beating hearts - we are nothing but a story, and you, you - the one who thinks arrogant and naive enough to believe he can truly save everyone in the end, because the war - another story, will happen, Mr Bryar."

"We can stop it together - you don't want it either." Bob continued, certainty still strong in his voice: a mystery neither party found themselves able to decode, but perhaps Bob just gave very few shits, especially in the face of such a conceited asshole, even if it was a conceited asshole who could kill him in a second, but of course both of them knew that a kill either way would not go without severe consequence.

"Oh, but we cannot stop things out our control, and Mr Bryar, there are whispers. Whispers cannot go unnoticed, but it seems whispers have such an awful difficulty when it comes to being dealt with, but there are whispers, and we should be ready."

"To stop whatever we face?" Bob asked, gripped by a sudden, crushing uncertainty for the first time, and he did not like it one bit, but surely it was to be nothing but expected as if anyone should knew, it was Bob Bryar, that you shouldn't put trust in anyone, especially not them. "Surely? You can't just let it happen."

"The fault, I hear is on our side, Bryar, and I'm sorry, but matters like that find no way into your business, especially as nothing is even official: nothing more than whispers - nothing." And Bob didn't dare question one at such close proximity, especially one that seemed no more afraid of the war that loomed as he would be of a block of cheese. "I can only offer condolences in order of the poor living that is sacrificed in this, and I can assure you that this is totally out of my control."

"You're their leader." Bob exclaimed, almost in outrage, but not quite, bottling most of it in for the sake of living to be older than twenty five.

"I'm the person telling the children not to play with their toys, yes." He raised both eyebrows as he stepped back into the darkness. "Think about that, Bryar." And in a moment; there was nothing - Bob alone in the darkness, and for the first time: truly fucking scared, and with no one to go for comfort, because he soon realised that he was himself just that person.

-

"We're all fucking fucked, Bert. That's what's happening, here." Bob had once again found himself at Bert's house, despite having first declined another invitation and then bursting in fifteen minutes later, fuming and in quite the state, leaving Bert to sit on his sofa and smoke another cigarette without the need for an ashtray: truth be told, he was just a little too lazy to go and fetch one from where he all too comfortably resided upon the rotting leather of his sofa.

"So, basically they are just going to let it happen, huh?" Bert asked, eyebrows rose high as Bob joined him on the sofa and stole a cigarette from the packet on the table without a need to ask; Bert only smirked, knowing he'd ensure Bob owed him for that one. "Talk about cowardice, really."

"Fucking assholes - never should have even initiated contact with them, and now we can't even stop this, and these fucking 'whispers'." Bob took what was probably a cancerously long drag of what was technically Bert's cigarette, as he spoke.

"So who do you think it's going to be that's taken? I mean, that's how it works, isn't it?" Bert asked, sitting up a little as he found himself gaining an almost unexpected interest in the dilemma they found themselves faced with everyday, only today it was just magnified by ten thousand.

"You're the fucking psychic medium, here, bitch." bob rolled his eyes, and Bert flashed him a scowl: a casual, friendly scowl, but a scowl nonetheless. "Come on, powers working today or do I 'need' to get you some dope before that shit starts to work 'properly'?"

Bert smirked just a little as Bob all so casually called him out on his perhaps not all so morally acceptable means in which he frequented the acquiring of free weed. "Uhmm... it's just... it's... that graveyard, and there's someone there: climbing over the gate, and he's human - a he... I can just tell, I just know that, and in the graveyard, up at the mausoleum, there's a figure - one of them, definitely. If I can just get closer- fuck!"

Bert screamed out, almost collapsing back onto the sofa, his eyes rolling up in their sockets as he starting exhaling like crazy, his cigarette dropping from his fingers and falling upon the floor in the state that he lay in.

"They don't like you looking, huh?" Bob asked, attempting to make a joke out of something that clearly worried him too: things that Bob couldn't understand were generally bad, bad things and not to be messed with.

"The graveyard... I... I could see the graveyard... and it hurts, because... it kills you, and the graveyard... Bob... the graveyard. The screaming...." He sat up, coughing and retching, Bob running to the kitchen to grab him a glass of water that might have been vodka: the bottle was clear and he didn't look further, but from the way Bert downed it, he reckoned or at least from such behaviour, hoped it was indeed water. "It isn't a graveyard, Bob."

"What do you mean?" Bob's eyes widened, his tone only growing louder in panic. "What the hell do you mean?"

"It's a graveyard, architecturally, yes, but there are no dead buried there: all the dead are walking about. All the dead are all one of them, and... buried in coffins six feet deep under the headstones... those aren't the dead, Bob, those are the living."

"What?" He exclaimed, eyes almost setting alight with a mix of anger, fear, and utter disbelief. "What do you mean?"

"They’re feeding from the living - locked up under there. It's like a catacombs of passageways under the ground there, Bob... I wouldn't: you're not going to do anything about this, please don't be that stupid, because if you get rid of the living, hidden away as their food source then they're going to start feeding upon people up here."

"Wouldn't the treaty already have been broken like that?" Bob asked, jumping to conclusions as his heart pounded like crazy in his chest. 

"They're not dead, but they're dying down there: possibly hundreds of years old. They're keeping them alive somehow, and just enough so that they can continue to be fed from." Bert exclaimed, his head pounding with the images he knew he'd never find himself able to rid from his mind.

"We can't just let them suffer like this!" Bob exclaimed, slamming his fist down against Bert's coffee table, and his knuckles bleeding in result, yet he ignored them, the pain screaming through his veins nothing in comparison to the bloodshed looming upon the horizon.

"We can't do anything until the treaty is broken, Bob." Bert reminded him: still breathing far too much as he struggled to cope with the fact that the air had practically been drained from his lungs as his eyes wandered too far and saw what they- what no one, was ever supposed to see.

"So, we have to let it be broken." Bob said with such certainty that almost scared the guy picking up his cigarette from the floor beside him.

"Bob, but this guy I saw going into the graveyard - it's going to be him, do you not even care?"

"We have to-"

"Bob, this isn't you."

"Bert, we're all going to fucking die; I really can't be Mr Nice Guy anymore."

-

Frank couldn't sleep.

And wasn't just that his mind was elsewhere or that he simply wasn't tired; every cell, every nerve, every inch of his body was craving the comfort of sleep, but there was just a little twitch, a little hunch that just wouldn't let sleep come, and it was just that very same overactive instinct that Frank had grown to hate in his time here.

He knew of the dangers of this place, or at least he thought he did, and he still felt as if the thoughts gnawing away at the back of his mind served in nothing but irrationality, and he couldn't help but bide his time away in secluded naivety as he cursed his mind and his instincts and didn't even spare enough time to think for one moment that something might be really watching him.

He dismissed it as his overactive imagination and dismissed it as his bedroom here, which he'd just never really liked, and he dismissed it as a dream he was floating around and in and out of: he dismissed it as anything he could.

Because deep down: so deep down that he wasn't even at all conscious of it, Frank was scared, and Frank knew something was watching him and Frank just dreaded to know what.

But on the surface, Frank was pissed off at his lack of sleep, more than anything, and the Frank people saw got up out of bed without a care at what was just past two in the morning, whereas Frank on the inside screamed and cried, because it seemed like inside Frank was the only one who hadn't completely disregarded his instincts and common sense in favour of some asshole with a trenchcoat that wanted to have sex with him, and just may or may not be a vampire.

The Frank people saw thought that was kind of cool; the Frank people didn't... well, didn't.

And it seemed that the unseen Frank proved to be unheard too, as he grabbed a hoodie and replaced pyjama bottoms with skinny jeans, pushing his feet, with just a little difficultly, into already laced up converse, and opened his bedroom window and did his best not to consider the risk of death as he made his way down the drain pipe and had what was at least heart attacks on the way down.

And it was of course only the real heart attack he got when he found that there was in fact somebody waiting for him at the bottom, yet that heart attack soon vanquished and reappeared in the form of a deathly glare as Frank lay his eyes upon the unforgettable dark hair, eyes that almost seemed to glow, and of course, the fucking trenchcoat.

"What the actual fuck?" Frank exclaimed, eyes growing wide as he locked them with Gerard's; the latter of the two only smirked in response, clearly far too amused by Frank's display of anger. "I could have had a fucking heart attack."

"I couldn't." Gerard added, smirk practically falling from his lips with zeal, leaving Frank with no other option but to narrow his eyes as the taller of the two continued. "Don't have a heart - well, technically, I still do. Whether, it functions properly, or at all, however is an entirely different matter."

"Yeah, I get it... vampires suck blood to feed, doesn't need any of their own pumping out of their heart." Frank rolled his eyes, perhaps reconsidering his tolerance to the dodgy, yet stupidly attractive guy he'd found himself encountering perhaps far too much for it to be conscience lately. 

"No, actually." Gerard stopped, smirk never seeming to have the slightest desire to leave his lips at all. Frank could only exhaling what was nothing more than a sigh of the most theatrical exasperation, before continuing on down the street: the absence of light that two am brought only rendered by the faulty streetlights that flickered far too much and their lights were far too dim to be at all truly affective, and of course, budget required that they were placed in such a sparsity that gaps of darkness lay between streaming pools of dim light, which Frank couldn't help but sprint between - as if he had any reason or excuse to be scared of the dark when he was walking with a vampire by his side, though.

Gerard quickened his pace to catch up with Frank, soon joining him in pace, which may or may not have been helped by just a little trick or two that he had up his sleeve. "We do need blood, just not our own, well we can't produce our own, being technically dead, and we are, partially, I guess. It's our organs that have rotted away and shrivelled up, and it keeps blood to sustain us and keep us alive, and I guess, in that case, it is indeed the blood of others, but with plenty of that, our bodies do function just like yours, well, physically. There is that whole thing with disappearing into the darkness and shit as well, but that is actually kind of complicated, and you're-"

"I'm what? Human? Don't go there, Gerard." Frank snapped, simply determined in the fact that under no circumstance would he allow this asshole to continue parading on in the untouched belief that he was superior, and still only due to the fact that he didn't own the blood coursing throughout his veins.

"Younger than me." Gerard smirked, going in for what was undoubtedly the most ridiculous save ever, and Frank knew that not a word that left his mouth right then held a single ounce of truth at all, but Frank just had a weakness for cute boys with dark hair and trenchcoats and fangs, so Gerard got off lightly on this one.

"Whatever." Frank rolled his eyes as the two of them turned down into an alleyway, both still utterly unaware as to any form of destination, simply letting their feet lead them where they needed to be taken. "So, how does the 'blood sucking' thing actually work? Are you like Count Dracula or more like Edward Cullen, huh?"

"I'm not a fucking movie cliché, Frank." Gerard stopped the two of them in the shadows, light streaming in down from the next lamppost about ten metres away, leaving the two of them not in utter darkness, but certainly a light in which Gerard definitely had the advantage when it came to sight.

"I know..." Frank stuttered back, unable to help just how uncomfortable he found himself with Gerard pinning him to the wall, their bodies pressed close together.

"Huh? Yeah? Do you, Frankie?" He chuckled a little, locking their eyes and growing nothing but more amused with Frank's continued intimidation. "Or would it be better if I showed you? A little demonstration, huh?"

"You just want to give me a hickey, don't you?" Frank grinned, pushing Gerard away from him a little with his newfound confidence in the novelty he found in the situation. "You like me, don't you? Think I'm cute, huh?"

"Pretty much..." Gerard exhaled, a smile biting at his lips as he couldn’t quite lock his eyes with Frank, because goddamn, it wasn't supposed to go like this - they weren't supposed to make him embarrassed, but there was just something about Frank that even when everything was screaming at him to run, he just didn't, and he never could, and Frank really just couldn't help but think the same about Gerard. "Yeah, you're fucking gorgeous, Frankie."

"Now, you're just sweet talking me, aren't you, Gerard?" Frank pushed Gerard further away, watching as their eyes connected and he considered the pros and cons of kissing who was probably the most beautiful guy he'd ever seen, and surprisingly, it seemed to just be all pros.

"Just telling the truth, Frankie." He continued in the same manner, attempting to push Frank back against the wall once more, only for the younger of the two to utterly surprise him by spinning him around and pinning him back against the brickwork instead. "Frank, what are you doing-"

"Shutting you up, asshole." Frank let a smirk slip over his lips as he continued, far too amused by Gerard's eyes bright and open wide as it seemed he almost found difficultly in understanding the fact that a boy both shorter and younger than him, and on top of that, human, had him under his control, and pinned back against a wall, and really he didn't know whether to be horribly aroused or horribly concerned, but he just let himself go for the former, because maybe Gerard just did have the slightest, slightest of soft spots when it came to boys like Frank Iero.

"And how are you going to do that?" Gerard asked, amusement sparking in his eyes.

"By kissing you."

And for just a moment, the taller of the two doubted him, but Frank soon made it very clear in the seriousness of his words as their lips meet and everything just became far too much all at once.

-


	12. This Chapter Is All Just Porn (I'm Not Sorry)

Everything seemed to fade out into a blur; Frank barely even processed his actions as Gerard pressed his lips to Frank's once again, and everything just fade away as Frank could only focus upon the slightly odd, almost metallic taste on his lips - something that Frank knew but just couldn't quite put a name to.

This was like New York all over again, but so much different, and really just so much better as the vampire pulled his lips away momentarily, eyes scanning over Frank's body and almost seeming weak and overpowered pushed up against the wall like this, and perhaps he'd make an exception for Frank Iero, just this once, as this would hardly matter in the long run, because already, if he was brave enough to do this, things were getting out of hand, and Gerard knew just how he'd solve such a problem.

And such a problem was solved with nothing more than words spoke at such a close proximity, they were just about whispered against each other's lips, and an entwinement of fingers: Gerard's stone cold and almost otherworldly beside Frank's clammy, nervous palms. "Let's get away, Frank, honey, I know just the place where no one will find us."

"Of all the people who've asked me for sex, you are most definitely the most eloquent." Frank couldn't help but choose an answer of the indirect nature, fighting off a blush as the reality of the situation and the meaning behind Gerard's words became all too clear and all too soon. 

"That's a compliment I'll take and an answer I'll take as a yes." He pushed his lips against Frank's just once more, gently: a kiss that was over before it had even started - an elaborate tease and a smirk that Gerard couldn't quite bite back, and a roll of Frank's eyes that was well deserved.

"You're far too eager." Frank commented, his tone casual as he attempted to keep his cool; Gerard, however, still far too confident in his belief that he could destroy that, and that he could destroy Frank entirely. "I'm not that good - I don't get what you want here."

"Of all the people who've asked you before." Gerard repeated, leaving Frank sinking amidst the depths of confusion. "All the people, suggests quite a lot, suggests that I am most definitely not alone in finding you attractive, Frankie, so I suggest you shut up before I make you."

"And how would you do that?" Frank asked, eyebrows raised as he let out a little giggle: far too confident entirely, as it was becoming rather clear that both parties seemed to entirely underestimate one another, and really, there was nothing else that could be the unlucky's demise.

"There are many ways in which I could, but it does indeed depend on how good you are as to how I will." Gerard could only smirk as he pulled Frank forward and as he clutched Frank's hand just a little too tightly, the both of them disappeared into the darkness, and as they stepped out in front of the same house which Gerard had taken Frank to before, the younger of the two could only be certain of the fact that if they were actually going to do anything, he would indeed need an aspirin first.

"How the fuck-" Frank exclaimed, his eyes growing wide like light bulbs, yet he really did seem to be the one in absence of eureka moments. "This is one of those fucking vampire fucking things you can do, isn't it? You fucking arrogant little prick."

"Vampire fucking things? Oh, this has nothing to do with fucking, Frankie - you'll figure that kind of thing out soon enough though, that I do promise you, and I would advise you don't use the words 'little prick' again, unless you want to proven just so horribly wrong." And that wink was really going to end up killing Frank as Gerard led him inside, without even a peep from the nineteen year old.

"So we're just going to fuck in some random abandoned house? Yes that sounds hygienic and safe, don't you think, huh?" Frank rolled his eyes, secretly pushing himself up onto his tiptoes in order to come across as perhaps slightly more intimidating than a Chihuahua.

"This isn't just some random abandoned house, Frankie - I stay here sometimes, I sleep in the bedroom on a somewhat regular basis and trust me I have come prepared, don't sweat your pretty little asshole, because I'm sure it will be pretty soon-"

"You're fucking crazy, I tell you, and I really do hate you, because you're so fucking arrogant and pretentious, but god, you're so damn attractive, it's like you're trying to kill me here, you fucking asshole-" Frank never got chance to finish his sentence, Gerard's lips landing on his and pinning him up against the wall, plaster flaking a little against Frank's back with the impact.

"Talk to me like that again and there will be consequences, Iero, got it?" His voice came out almost deep and husky, like this was his 'sex tone' or something, and Frank couldn't help but let his cheeks fall into the trap of a killer, pink toned blush. "I can't hear you, Frank."

"Uhh... I... yes... I'm sorry... I..." Frank was a mess - an absolute wreck, and Gerard couldn't deny that he was absolutely loving every minute of it, because that was just every minute he could spending know that it was he who had reduced Frank to such a state.

"Pull yourself together, Iero." He rolled his eyes, pinning Frank against the wall with much more force, his eyes meeting Frank's in a flash of an obviously unnatural shade of hazel. "How far do I have to go here? How far do I have to go just to get you to shut up and behave, huh? Tell me."

"I-I..." Frank's words caught in his throat, his eyes widening as reality set down upon him, and really he was past blushing now, only looking all doe eyed up into the almost enchanting gaze of the guy pinning him against the wall - this was not a bad situation at all.

"Do I have to fucking shut you up as well? Do I have to fucking gag you, Frankie? Are you going to make this difficult? Are you going to be a little bitch? Are you going to touch yourself? Am I going to have to tie you up too? Because, Frankie, honey, I really did mean it when I said I came prepared."

And Frank could barely even choke a single word out even if he had wanted to before Gerard had practically pushed him upstairs before shoving him down onto the mattress and leaving him there, in his state of shock and 'oh my god' kind of arousal, as the vampire closed the door behind them, and began rummaging through the chest of drawers, which was situated in the corner of the room, beside the tall wardrobe that definitely looked like it had suffered the brunt of a house fire before; the black scorch marks at the corners serving as evidence.

The curtains were of course drawn, and Frank suspected things were like that at all times, just to prevent any unfortunate accidents of the sunburning nature, yet the room was illuminated by candles on each of the bedside tables: an almost cliché red in colour, and half burned down from use, the wax melting away and twisting and deforming the once intricate shape the candle had been purchased in.

Gerard really had come prepared, and Frank just didn't know how to feel about that, because whatever his intentions were right now, Frank could tell that they were definitely positioned just a little astray, however it seemed that he was really thinking with his dick and not his head today, and surely, it could be nothing else that would be his absolute downfall.

"So tell me? You never did answer any of my questions, Frankie. We do need to talk about these things, don't we, because I assure you that if you do just let me do whatever I want to you that you will no longer have a functioning lower half - and by that I don't mean that I'm going to cut off your legs." Frank shuddered at Gerard's voice, breaking the silence, and the nineteen year old resorted to sitting cross legged upon the bed, looking up as Gerard pulled various objects of a questionable nature from the drawers.

"You want to have kinky sex with me, don't you, Gerard?" Frank finally managed to get it out rather straight - oh, the irony.

"Of course I do - otherwise, it would simply be no fun, don't you think, darling?" He smirked, turning to wink at the boy sat almost awkwardly upon the bed.

"I haven't done anything like this before." Frank admitted, blushing a little as he just hated to get at all personal with things like this, but maybe Gerard was different, and maybe this would prove that. "Like I barely know all that much about it, like don't you need a safeword and that kind of thing? Don't get me wrong, I want to do this with you, I really, really like you, Gee, but I'm kind of nervous."

"That's kind of cute, honestly, Frankie." He smiled to himself, before turning around completely, and removing the trenchcoat for once, discarding it on the floor and pushing his dark mess of hair back behind his ears. "Look, just pick a word that you want to be the safe word, and if you don't want me to do something or you want me to stop, use that and I will - I don't want to hurt, well at least, not if you don't want me to, because as hard as it is for someone like me to admit, I really like you, Frankie."

"Also what even is it with vampires and sex like how does that even work?" Frank dared to ask, blushing a little as he pulled his knees up to his chest.

"It works fine, I promise you - believe it or not, I do indeed have first hand experience. Safeword and basically any general 'no-no's, and I guess, I guess then we'll get started." Because as much as he hated to admit it, Gerard couldn't ignore how he felt about Frank - it was never like this with anyone else, even the really attractive ones: he didn't give a single fuck if they started crying or if it hurt them, he just got on with getting off, but he could tell already that Frank was just different, and he just didn't know as to whether that was good or bad different yet.

"How about 'lemon'?"

"What the fuck?" Gerard asked, eyes forced open wide and a chuckle not far off.

"I don't know, I just, it's random. I like lemon flavoured iced tea better than peach anyway, so you know." Frank blushed a little, really just out of his depth here, but far too in awe of Gerard to ever admit that. "Also, I really don't know, like I'm not used this kid of thing, but please don't piss on me."

"Not my kind of thing anyway, don't worry." Gerard giggled a little, before looking down and considering just how on earth Frank Iero had actually managed to make him feel embarrassed. "Um... yeah, at some point could I like bite you or something- like not turn you, I just blood- it's safe, I promise- I... I just maybe have a small little blood kink, I mean, being a vampire and-"

And it was then Frank seemed to surprise him completely as all preconceived innocence washed away in the form of eyes almost hungry with lust, looking up to meet Gerard's, as one word simply out, almost explicit in nature, and simply throwing Gerard over the edge completely.

"Please."

"Oh my." Gerard exhaled, shaking his head and allowing a smirk to slip his lips as he joined Frank on the bed, fingers tugging at the hem of the younger's shirt, before pulling it completely off and exposing his tattooed torso, leaving Gerard gaping, and beyond aroused. "You're so fucking pretty, Frankie, you should flaunt it, just walk around naked, but if you did just everyone would take advantage of you, because you're fucking irresistible, you know that? You make me want you like no one ever has before and I just don't know what to do about this."

"Fuck me."

Gerard only chuckled, rolling his eyes a little. "Slut, such a fucking slut, you need to learn some patience, I tell you, and you are, because don't think you're getting off easily, Iero - don't you think that for even a second."

"I won't, of course." Frank nodded, a blush cursing his lips as he couldn't help but still just feel a little awkward, especially with the tidal wave of confidence that Gerard seemed to effortlessly radiate.

"Ahem." Gerard's eyes opened wide, his eyebrows rising as he looked Frank up and down with a smirk twitching at the corner of his lips. "I won't, of course, master."

"Gerard-" Frank's breath seemed to hitch all at once, as his supply of oxygen seemed to collapse in on itself as he struggled to understand just what had just occurred, and just what he'd been told to do.

"Do I have to tell you again, Iero? How will you refer to me from now on?" Gerard exhaled exasperatedly, almost as if Frank's anxious demeanour was giving him nothing more than grief in the form of impatience and wasted time. "Or will I have to punish you for this? Have to make sure it gets into that pretty little head of yours, huh?"

"No, I... I'm sorry, master." Frank's cheeks filled with a deep red blush as he dragged his gaze down to the bed, biting down upon his bottom lip as he filled with anxiety as to just what would happen next.

"Good." Gerard broke into a smirk, running his fingers through Frank's hair and pulling his head back up so their eyes were locked once more. "Another thing - you're still wearing far too many clothes." He commented with a slight smirk, as he gestured towards Frank's jeans and the skin they were hiding away: Gerard had no need for modesty. "I can fix that, though."

His smirk widened as he began to undo Frank's zipper, his hands crawling over newly exposed skin as they sought to separate the far too tight, dark denim from Frank's skin, but as much as he wanted to tease him, he couldn't take his time with this, as this was just far too good to waste, and really there were dozens of ways in which he could tease and torture the nineteen year old later.

And before Frank knew it, he was kneeling upon the bed, utterly exposed for Gerard, hands resting obediently behind his back as Gerard passed a smirk, before making his way back over to the drawers - still fully clothed.

"What game do you want to play first, huh, Frankie?" He chuckled a little as he laid his gaze upon his little collection of 'toys' in the drawer, because they really were going to have fun here, because if Gerard was going to fuck himself up with this, he was most definitely going to make it worthwhile. "What toy shall we play with first? Tell me, Frankie, come over here and beg." And oh so obediently, 'little Frankie' made his way over to the chest of drawers, standing far too close to Gerard as he let out an audible gasp at the sight that the drawers held.

"Shall I fill that pretty little hole of yours up first, and teach you a lesson for being such a fucking slut, because you just want it, you need it, you need more, and you need me, but I'm not going to give into whores like you, not until you've served your purpose, of course. So be a good little slut, huh?" Frank only nodded, swallowing hard as he couldn't deny the slight uncomfortable sensation brewing downstairs, and exposed like this, it'd be all too fucking obvious just the moment he got hard.

"Yes... I, yes, master." Frank choked out, his response just a little delayed, leaving Gerard to shake his head in what was close to resembling disgust.

"You need to be a taught a lesson, you know that, slut?" He spat, smirking to himself as he began to rummage around in the draw, leaving Frank to bite down on his lip and expect the absolute worst.

What he did get was a pair of handcuffs, which Gerard held out for him to take notice of, only momentarily, before pushing him against the wall with enough strength for it to ache upon impact, and for the nineteen year old to let out a moan as his wrists were grabbed and cuffed together without a word.

"Get on the bed - on your knees." Gerard instructed, before turning away from the nineteen year old, slightly shaking and near enough fully hard at this point: all to the vampire's utter amusement, as he pulled a relatively small vibrator out of the drawer, and of course, then the little bottle of lube, before joining Frank on the bed, where the nineteen year old kneeled, hands cuffed behind his back and faced away from Gerard, of course giving him the advantage of surprise as he pushed Frank down onto the bed, face first as he moaned out, his ass up in the air as Gerard held his hips steady.

"Fuck... I-" Frank choked out before even thinking, leaving Gerard only to chuckle in response as he cupped the cheeks of Frank's ass.

"Oh, Frankie, darling, we're only just getting started." He smirked, as he lubed up one finger, pressing it at his entrance, the nineteen year old emitting a gasp at the sudden cold touch.

"One only? Come on, I've been assfucked before - I can take it." He snapped, almost insulted, leaving Gerard to shake his head and roll his eyes at the younger’s ignorance and naivety, but of course, that would all too soon be put to a halt.

"Fine then, little slut." And then before Frank could even think, the vibrator, buzzing on a relatively low setting, and barely any lube was pushed into him.

"Agh- fuck- fuck... fuck!" He exclaimed, nearly fall completely down against the bed, and he in fact would have done if Gerard's fingernails weren't digging into his hips tightly enough to scar. "Oh, Jesus fuck, I... Ger-" Frank couldn't even complete his discrepancy, before Gerard's hand was raised high and brought down across his ass.

"Fucking get it right, slut." He scolded, rolling his eyes and pushing the vibrator the rest of way in as he ignored the younger's whimpers. "I'm going to give you five for that. Fucking count for me - I'm bad at math."

"One." Frank choked out as Gerard's hand came down against his already reddened ass again, only for the older to exhale in frustration, taking his other hand from Frank's hip and causing him to fall flap against the bed, writhing and moaning almost instantly.

"Pathetic." He tutted, shaking his head as he yanked Frank back up, gripping his hip tighter as he raised his hand, ready to bring it down once more. "Remember who I am, Frankie."

"Two, master." He whimpered out with Gerard's second slap to his ass.

"Better."

"Three, master." Frank jerked forward at the increased pressure with which the spanking came, only for Gerard to draw blood from the younger's hip with his fingernails as he yanked him back into position.

"Four, master." Frank trembled, praying that Gerard would pay attention to his dick after this, because oh god, this wasn't half turning him on.

"Five, master!" Frank exhaled, his voice a shriek as the grip on his hip was lost, the vibrator turned up and he was left face first upon the bed as Gerard got up, and leaving Frank clueless with nothing more than the sounds of a zipper and shirt buttons - he had to get naked too eventually, after all, it was only fair.

"Frankie, darling?" Gerard cooed, his voice sweet and fake to the point of sickness as he approached the nineteen year old from the front this time, "look at me." He commanded, pulling the boy back up onto his knees, leaving Frank to gasp in awe at Gerard's sudden loss of clothing, because this was not a sight to object to at all. "Suck me off, will you, honey?"

And Frank didn't get a chance to object before Gerard forced himself down Frank's throat, hands tangling in the younger's hair as suddenly everything became a matter of Frank's speciality, yet combined, with the little problem in his ass, driving him crazy as he rubbed up against Gerard in desperation as the older of the two continued to push himself deeper down Frank's throat, and the younger tried his best not to choke or let on any signs of weakness.

"You're so fucking good, Frankie." Gerard moaned out, pulling at Frank's hair as he struggled to prevent himself from coming right then and there down his throat, as Frank's tongue ran almost teasingly slowly down from his balls. "I want to come right down your throat right now, make you swallow it all, but that would be such a shame, would ruin the fun of ruining your pretty little tight asshole for me, wouldn't it?"

Gerard pulled out with out warning, pulling Frank up by his hair. "Wouldn't it?" He repeated in search of a response; Frank however was barely breathing and sweating hell, and only could manage a quick nod of his head, which Gerard decided would have to suffice, before the older had pushed him down against the mattress, kissing him and licking down his neck, his lips hovering over the pale skin that formed his neck as he considered something.

Frank soon caught on, meeting Gerard's eyes and muttering nothing more than a drained, "please."

And from then on, Gerard most certainly did not hesitate, Frank screaming out as Gerard sunk his teeth into his neck, extracting not enough blood to kill him or for this to be a usual kind of thing, but just enough for it to trickle lightly down his neck. "Fuck, fucking beautiful." Gerard exclaimed as he pulled away, leaving Frank whimpering and moaning out fragmented sentences that acted as nothing more than music to Gerard's ear as he pulled Frank's legs up onto his shoulders, exposing his ass and the vibrator that still lay inside it.

"I want to see you when you come. I want to see you scream out for me, and I want to see that look on your face." Gerard's words went straight to Frank's dick, yet served suitably as a distraction as he pulled out the vibrator, turning it off and discarding it on the floor, Frank letting a whine loose from his lips in response.

"Please, master, please, fuck me." Frank choked out, well aware of just how desperate and pathetic he sounded, but in a state such as this, he simply couldn't bring himself to care: his whole world revolving around how much he needed Gerard inside him, and how much he needed it right now.

"So beautiful, so beautiful and polite." Gerard let a chuckle slip his lips as he began to lube himself up, catching Frank's gaze: eyes open wide and almost dopey as his dick protruded - uncomfortably hard, and throbbing- begging for Gerard and just what he could do to me.

"Please-"

"Only if you don't come until I let you."

"But, I... I don't know if I can hold on, master, I-" Frank choked out, tears coming to his eyes, as he couldn't take it anymore.

"You will. Or I'll leave you like this." Gerard snapped, before lining himself up and pushing the tip in without warning, Frank's back arching up in response as he let out a string of dizzy profanities in addition.

"Deeper, please, master, deeper. More." Frank begged, his eyes screwed shut, as Gerard let out an amused chuckle, before pushing all the way in and leaving Frank to groan in consequence.

"You ready, Frankie?" He asked, grinning as he pushed the younger's hair away from his face, Frank moaned out and nodded - an explicit gesture serving as an expected response. "God, you're so fucking tight - fucking perfect."

And with nothing more between either of them, Gerard pulled out a little before slamming back in, Frank's hips jerking up at the sudden movement, yet jerking exactly so Gerard hit his prostate and accidentally so, but from the scream Frank expelled as he did, it was certainly no secret. "Right there, huh?" Gerard smirked, grasping Frank's hips in an effort to hold his writhing form still.

Frank could only nod in response before Gerard slammed against his prostate again, yet this time harder, like he meant it, and like last time had been nothing but a test run, and Frank's continued screaming certainly proved that.

"Oh fuck, Frankie, oh fuck..." Gerard let the words fall from his lips like water droplets, before repeating his prior actions over and over at an increased velocity, as the two of them soon formed a rhythm: dependant upon one another as they moved and gasped as climax approached far too suddenly.

"Fuck, fuck- fuck, fuck, Frankie." Gerard exclaimed, not even pausing to speak: out of breath and his hands shaking as he lined himself up for what he thought would be it, throwing himself down against Frank's prostate with all he had, and screaming out in response as climax reached him and Frank's followed straight after, almost like clockwork, except the kind that leaked out white and perfect all over his stomach.

"Fucking slut..." Gerard panted out, as struggled to pull out with his utter lack of energy, leaving Frank whining against the sudden loss of the sensation of over stimulated fullness. "Admit what you are, Frankie."

"Your slut, master, yours - always." He exclaimed, leaving Gerard breathless, yet this time metaphorically as he joined him, sprawled out across the bed, and their eyes met for only a moment before Frank turned away, pressing his back into Gerard's chest and leaving the two of them like that in silence.

Gerard hadn't been planning this at all, and this just couldn't have happened, but despite his wishes, it had, and unexpectedly, it seemed to just about be the best thing that ever had happened to him, because maybe if Frank was just this pretty, just this perfect, and just this obedient, then he could never really let him go to waste - he'd have to keep him.

After all, with that 'always', Frank had already agreed.

-


	13. Gerard Way, Flaming Homosexual

"Awake huh, are we pretty boy?" Gerard let a chuckle pass his lips as he gave Frank's sleeping form - currently occupying his bed, a gentle shove. The boy groaned into the pillow as a result of the impact, shaking his head firmly and turning over in the hopes of just going back to bed.

"No, Frankie, come on, you're going to get up now." Gerard shook his head, pushing his hair back from his face and sitting down, almost awkwardly beside the sleeping body, giving him another a shove - another shove Frank solely ignored. "You're going to ignore me, huh? You're going to be a naughty boy and ignore your master, are you?"

Frank, of course, sat up almost instantly at that, just a little shocked and very aroused, his eyes open wide and full of lust, dark and needing Gerard in far few clothes than he was in now. "No, master, I-I'll be good."

Gerard bit down on his bottom lip hard, because oh fuck, Frank was just so easy, so fucking obedient, and so fucking beautiful - this was all just being handed to him; he didn't even have to try. "You don't have to call me that when we're not fucking, you know, Frank. I was just teasing- well, I kind of wanted to see just how well that would work, and trust me I'm rather delighted with the results."

"What if I want to call you that, though, master?" Frank gave way to a blush as he pulled himself onto Gerard's lap, nuzzling into his black shirt clad torso, gesturing for him to remove them of such clothing related complications.

"Not in public, Frankie." He exhaled, running his fingers through Frank's hair, as Gerard came to realise that perhaps when it came to making Frank Iero his own, all the work had indeed already been done for him - how considerate was that, huh? "Not yet, anyway."

"What does that mean?" Frank asked, getting up and pulling on his shirt from the floor.

"You can borrow some of my stuff, if you want." Gerard added, stopping Frank with the shirt half lifted over his head, and totally not staring at his stretched out, exposed, and tattooed torso. "I have a few things in the closet."

"What does that mean?" Frank repeated after a few seconds of silence, which passed as Frank discarded his shirt for the second time and pulled open the closet, grabbing the first shirt he saw, and a pair of jeans, that probably would bunch on his little fucking midget legs enough for him to conceal stilts under them.

"It means that maybe I like you, Iero." Gerard paused, gasping just a little as the nineteen year old pulled the very tight pair of skinny, emphasis on the skinny, jeans on. "Maybe I like you, and maybe I like you more than I'm supposed to."

"And what does that mean?" Frank continued, smirking just a little at the gasp he heard from the boy sat on the bed, making no secret out of the fact that he was biding his time away by admiring Frank's ass. "Or are you too distracted by my ass to answer, Mr Way?"

"Fuck, don't ever fucking stop calling me that." Gerard exclaimed, getting up from the bed and slinging his arms around Frank's neck. "You're so fucking pretty, Frank, you know that? Maybe I'm not supposed to find people like you so fucking pretty."

"What do you mean by that? Boys? Guys? Because you're seriously a flaming homosexual, Gerard." Frank sighed, rolling his eyes as he turned back to face the vampire.

"Humans." He finished, leaving the two of them to just deal with the silence that followed, because really, it was far too easy to just forget about and to just ignore the complications that surrounded the two of them throughout every step they took, but things like these - the little reminders, they made it far too real, all again.

"So I'm just some little fucking secret- some fuck toy, and this is never going to be anything, and what? Do you have a real vampire boyfriend or something? How much do you fuck around? How much will hurt me? How right was everyone else - tell me, Gerard."

It was also very easy to forget just how easy things could turn so fucking sour, and just how easily something so perfect, burning bright, became too much to take, and just a mess, a pile of ashes on the floor.

"No, Frank, look, I promise you, it's not like that." Gerard let out an exasperated sigh as he made his way over to the chest of drawers, this time opening the one that didn't contain the multitude of sex toys, and instead one continuing a collection of far more personal possessions. "Maybe I'm just a little scared, you know. And maybe I was just a little too scared to admit that."

"Scared? About what?" Frank exclaimed, making his way over to join Gerard, and maybe getting just slightly disappointed with the fact that this was a different drawer that he'd opened, and that he wasn't staring with such fascination at a drawer full of dildos. "You're a vampire, Gerard!"

"I know, and that's why everything's fucked up, because maybe for us, commitment is a big thing. Fucking is just kind of a power thing, a dominance kind of thing, and actual emotions, and love - keeping people, that's just different. Because maybe I do really like you, Frank, and maybe I just don't know what to do about that."

"So Mikey and Ray, that's a big thing." Frank asked, eyes growing wide, as he came to realise just how little he did actually know about them, despite their apparent friendship.

"Yeah, I guess. I mean, Mikey's not really like the rest of us, anyway. He always seemed to care about people and how they felt just a bit more than he was supposed to, and he always seemed to care too much about my cold-heartedness- metaphorically, not literally, I mean- I..."

"So, what are we, Gerard? Where are we going? What's to become of us?" Frank asked, eyes open wide as he struggled to cope with the racing thoughts as they darted throughout his mind.

"I don't know, Iero." Gerard rolled his eyes, grabbing an item from the draw and clasping it tightly in his palm so Frank couldn't see. "I'm a vampire, not a fortune teller."

"What’s that in your hand?" Frank noticed, but not quite, and perhaps he wasn't about to give up until he got answers.

"I want to give you something." Gerard finally said, biting down upon his lip, almost as if he was scared, almost as if he wasn't quite sure, and almost as if a small part of him felt like he shouldn't do this. "It's a bracelet, nothing fancy, I mean, I just want you to know that I care."

Frank let the item fall gently into his palm; it was a black leather kind of thing, yet with an odd sort of symbol stitched into the leather in a dark, almost dried blood, day old bruise, kind of red colour. "What's that symbol thing?" Frank asked as he slipped it around his wrist: the leather instantly feeling just a little too tight, but perhaps not tight enough for the nineteen year old to actually care enough to loosen it.

"I don't know, actually. Something in Latin, probably. It's just pretty, like you." Gerard added, and to be honest, Frank was blushing far too much right now to actually care.

"Does it mean asshole? Just like you are?" Frank asked, gaining nothing but a shake of the head from Gerard, as the vampire shut the drawer and opened the door, Frank following him downstairs into the house that he was still kind of unsure as to whether they were actually trespassing in or not.

-

"Sometimes I wonder why we fucking bother with Frank, you know." Ray exhaled loudly, leaning against the counter of the record store as he came to the realisation that he hadn't actually seen Frank for days. "I haven't seem him at all - I mean, he could be dead and I don't even know- oh my god, he could be dead-"

"Ray, come on, calm down." The girl stood flicking through the half price vinyl rack commented, drawing breath as Ray froze in what was the beginning of some form of panic attack.

"Christa!" Ray exclaimed in response, shaking his head firmly, "he could be dead. Like absolutely dead."

"Ray cut it out. You do know that I'm very aware that you bribed me over here to keep you company with cheaply priced records." She shook her head as Ray continued in his crisis like state a few metres away, as she continued to browse the stock.

"No, Christa, that's just business." Ray corrected her with a roll of his eyes, calming down a little, as he turned to here. "Can you promise me that Frank isn't dead?"

"Look Ray, I'm sure he's fine-"

"Promise me." He demanded almost in a manner worthy of a toddler having a tantrum.

"Jesus, Ray! Do you like him or something- oh wait you have that secret boyfriend that I'm not suppose to know about, don't you?" She smirked a little, placing a Smiths record on the counter. "I'd like to buy this, please, Mr Toro."

Ray stood there frozen for a few moments, glancing at her with his mouth open wide and gaping, as he struggled to quite comprehend just what she said, because his vampire boyfriend was most certainly not common knowledge, that was for sure.

"Come on, Toro - I’m waiting, aren't you going to serve me- this is bad business, you know?" She winked at him, leaving Ray to almost grudgingly make his way behind the counter and sell her the record - oh what a trouble, so much effort.

"What do you know about Mikey? And how do you know it?" Ray demanded, grabbing her hand as she turned to leave and ensuring that she didn't, despite the fact that just to his request, she had indeed spent over five dollars.

"It's not really a secret anymore, if people know, well especially not a good one, is it? A secret's only a secret - when it stays that - secret." She drew breath, pulling her gaze to his hand; pushing hers down against the counter and keeping her here. "Can I have the luxury of having my hand back as well, Ray? Preferably before it goes dead and drops off from you grabbing it like that. I think only having one hand would be rather problematic, and I would be rather tempted to sue."

"Shut up, Christa." He shook his head, rolling his eyes at her, as he only released the pressure on her hand a little. "Tell me who told you about me and Mikey. People aren't supposed to know-"

"Yeah, because he's technically dead and you're alive and that's kind of fucked up to a certain level, and then again, not to mention that it's a gay relationship, and that you're having buttsex in this very shop, right under everyone's noses, but soon enough people will start to notice, and people are noticing, and people will know, and people know. I know. Wonder who else does?"

"Christa- For god's sake, just tell me. I thought we were friends, friends keep secrets, huh?" He smiled at her awkwardly, really just praying that somehow this would all fix itself and that he never have to deal with the mess that was unfolding before his very eyes.

"Your brother dumped me and broke my heart, Ray - we can never be friends. That's just not how friends work. You just happen to have my number and then only because your cellphone used to be his and you haven't quite figured out how to delete the contacts that were saved to the SD card yet - by the way, I recommend you just get a new SD card, but-"

"Who knows?" Ray screeched this time, his eyes almost glowing in anger, and perhaps Christa was just a little intimidated, but not really, because she couldn't quite the image of twelve year old Ray out of her head. "Just tell me how you know, Christa, and then you can go, and then we'll never speak again, but just tell me, please."

"Oh, but it's a secret, and maybe I actually know how to keep them." She smirked, attempting to pull away, Ray grabbing her back, leaving her to roll her eyes and pull a little piece of paper from her pocket, sliding it across the table.

Bob's business card: a 'him' scribbled on the back in definitively feminine handwriting.

Ray was absolutely fucked.

-

"Bob, this is absolutely fucking stupid, and you know that, and really, I thought you were actually the only person with an ounce of sense in this place." Bert shook his head, biting down just a little too hard on his bottom lip as he attempted to distract himself from the almost thudding throb of a headache that he pretended not to know the cause of, mostly just because it was something he'd rather not think about, and actually even forget the entire existence of if it was at all possible. He very much doubted that it at all was, though.

"Yeah, but Bert, I know it's stupid, but we can't just leave people like this, and we can't just leave them to die. We can't just condemn such a fate to the innocent." Bob shook his head as he continued, his draws of breath growing more desperate as they climbed further up the hill, Bert trailing nervously behind Bob's figure: determined and almost marching on ahead to the ultimate demise in the form of the hill the graveyard lay a top of.

Even Frank Iero knew this wasn't a place to trust or visit, and now Bob Bryar was marching up here like it was nobody's business, and in that moment, Bert began to wonder if the war had already even began, or if Bob had just smoked a little too much weed this morning or something, but the one thing that he did know, from cold, hard experience, was the fact that once Bob got an idea in his head, there really was absolutely no talking him out of it.

"Like you've never killed anyone before, Bob." Bert exhaled, shaking his head too, as he came to realise what this was bringing him to- what it was bringing them both to, what it was bringing everybody too.

"I've killed them, yes-"

"Who are you, Bob Bryar? You know what? I thought you were all about peace and equality and that you were the person I could trust here, but now you're just like the rest of them. You just want every fucking undead dead right this moment, and with very little reason for it." Bert met Bob's eyes, scowling a little at the man before him, who was now the man he no longer recognised, because this wasn't Bob, not anymore. "Who are you? Because this isn't what Bob would do."

"That all changed the moment I actually met with them, and found that they care oh so little about peace and keeping this treaty - they're worse than me, you know, and with all this blood hostage mess, what's to say that the war hasn't already begun? What's to say that they haven't already smashed that treaty to bits, huh?"

"And what's to say that you can't be the better man?" Bert shook his head, rapidly losing all faith he had in the bearded man before him. "Those blood hostages, whatever you call them, I hate this as much as you do, but they're long dead now - it's only the blood keeping them alive and if we 'rescue' them, we'll rescue them as the dead, and not the wounded."

"So, I'm just supposed to let them get away with this?" Bob asked, looking at Bert like he too, didn't quite recognise his friend anymore. "Tell me what I'm supposed to do, McCracken, if you seem to have all the answers, yeah?"

"Maybe you're supposed to just go back to protecting those who standby you, because the only thing that an official declaration of war is going to achieve is conflict on the level of absolute bloodshed. Do you want more innocents to die; do you want this town to fall to pieces? Do you want to loose children; do you want to loose mothers? Do you want to loose fathers? And do you want them to?"

"None of them actually care, they don't have feelings." Bob shook his head as he spoke, his tone growing sour, almost as if he was attempting to convince himself, more than he was Bert.

"It seems that you've never met Mikey Way." Bert met Bob's gaze: questioning, and ready to release a firestorm of insults, that only a continuation of his words could silence. "He's close with Ray, Toro, the guy who runs the record store, and despite being one of them, he's a really nice guy. I don't actually know him all that well, but he seems nice enough and Ray thinks the absolute world of him-"

"There were rumours Ray was with one of them- fuck, he can't be fucking him? Does that even work, like technically, he's dead-"

"Bob, that's really none of your business, look, can you please see some sense here?" Bert grabbed Bob's hand, an awkward, perhaps mistake, and perhaps it would have been if Bob simply chose to think nothing of it, letting Bert lead him away from the graveyard, the bearded of the two, exhaling loudly in the inner peace it seemed to bring him, seeing straight finally, and the other lost his headache like it was nothing. "Look, I want you to meet Mikey, properly. You can't go on mindlessly hating them just for the sake of one asshole, Bob-"

"Are you vampires?" The two turned around in shock at a slightly high pitched and maybe just a little pubescent voice, Bob exhaling loudly as a boy no older than eighteen, with tan skin and dark hair, clutching a wonky, unauthentic, e-bay esque stake, stood before them.

"Are you actually fucking kidding me?" Bob rolled his eyes, meeting Bert’s gaze, who was perhaps just a little bit nicer to the guy, but in no way less apprehensive. "What are you, kid? Like twelve?"

"I'm eighteen, eighteen and three ninths, actually." He added, with an 'it's my first day of middle school' smile that Bob felt an uncontrollable urge to punch right off his face. "I'm Pete, I guess you're not vampires, because I'm totally carrying like garlic in my pockets and you haven't erupted into flames in the shape of crucifixes yet, so-"

"Kid, that's not even how it fucking works- wait, actually who the fuck are you, and what the fuck are you doing here?" Bob asked, eyes narrowing as Pete grew all the more suspicious.

"I'm Pete Wentz, and I'm like a vampire slayer, I want to kill some vampire, kick some fanged ass, you know, what about you? Are you my precious civilians to protect? Tell me do you have sisters?" Pete almost pouted at the blank expressions he was presented with. "Brothers? Brothers are fine too? I haven't got time to be fussy about gender when I'm kicking all this vampire butt-"

"Have you ever actually slain a vampire?" Bert interrupted, eyebrows almost fixed halfway up his forehead as a result of his confrontation with Pete.

"Well, uhh... no, but I'm soon to change that-"

"Yeah, it's probably best if you actually fuck off and don't because, kid you really don't know what you're getting yourself into here." Bob sighed, wondering just how long he'd have to talk for before Pete fucked off entirely.

"And who are you?" Pete asked, apprehensive all of a sudden.

"Bob Bryar, town vampire slayer, general hero, keeper of the peace. I run things around here - for both sides, really." Pete stared stunned into silence at what information he'd just been all so casually presented with. "This town is at war, kiddo, even if it doesn't want to admit it, I tell you, this a battle you don't want to get caught in the crossfire of."

"I've never actually met a real vampire." Pete admitted, all wide-eyed and gaping mouthed as he continued in his struggle to comprehend just what he'd been told. "Like, I've met people who have and things, but never, face to face, in the flesh, I-"

"Well, lucky for you, Pete, we're going to see one now, aren't we, Bob?" Bert butted in, knowing that bringing Pete along would be absolutely the perfect way to piss off Bob.

"Really?" Pete exclaimed, eyes popping out of their sockets like an over excited six year old.

"Huh?" Bob grunted, glaring at Bert.

"Yeah, we are, his name's Mikey."

-


	14. I'm A Vampire Hunter, Not A Childcare Worker

This was of course nothing more than a bad idea and even Bert knew that, and after all, it was just nothing more than his idea all along, but he had a stubborn nature a point to prove, so there wasn't a chance he'd even consider stepping down at this point, even surrounded by two assholes - one brooding, and one far too overexcited.

And really, part of Bert couldn't help but hope that Mikey Way discovered that he didn't like this Pete kid, just as much as Bob didn't, and them maybe matters could solve themselves from there forward and Bert could even wash his hands clean of the matter and pretend that he didn't lead the weird little emo to his demise, and then everything would be perfect, and everything would be fine, of course until somebody else died, and then things would just get fucked up and complicated all over again, because that was just how this stupid little place worked, and by now, there was simply no doubt about that.

"This is a bad idea." Bob's voice came to remind him - a hushed whisper, but one pulled off so inadequately, that not only did Pete hear him, but he perked up at it, ensuring that everyone knew about the indiscreet nature of Bob's comment.

"You just don't want him around." Bert reminded him, his tone far more hushed and pulled off well enough so that Pete turned away and pretended not to hear, at the very least.

"Well, you're not wrong." Bob added, shrugging as he imitated Bert's tone, because maybe he didn't want some amateur eighteen year old fucking up everything he'd spend years trying to do just to get this town to even recognise the concept of co-existence, let alone consider trying it, and now that this treaty bullshit was worth about just as much as Bob's respect for Pete, they were all already totally screwed, and really Pete was bound to only make things so much worse, and possibly even kick start the conflict if he was trying.

"Look, he wants to meet a vampire, and trust me - look at him, the moment he does, he will have decided that this is something he never wants to do again and he'll be out of here as fast as he can be, and out of hair, okay?" Bert met Bob's gaze, forcing a smile onto his friend's rather stubborn face - it wasn't working.

"If it doesn't work, you're fucking buying me a packet of cigarettes, you know that, don't you, Bertie?" Bob winked, smirking a little at the one positive he made for himself out of this mess, because with the determination in those eyeliner coated eyes, he was bound to be right, and at the very least, he had a packet of free cigarettes to smoke away as he watched this town descend into shit: if Pete started the mess, then he'd be the one to fix it, that Bob was certain of.

"Don't call me Bertie." Bert shivered a little at the uncomfortable nickname Bob had forced upon him, leaving the bearded of the two to chuckle a little in response, pulling his gaze back to meet the one of Pete, who was trailing awkwardly behind the two of them, still trying to bury himself behind his fringe, and after his mum insisted that he had it cut, it wasn't really working at all.

"Don't force me to put up with a stupid little 'kid' and then babysit him as we take him to meet the rare and dangerous 'Mikey'. Mikey even sounds like the name of a seven year old kid with a toy truck, not a fucking vampire. What even is this? I'm a vampire hunter, not a childcare worker."

"I'm not a kid, I'm eighteen... last week." Pete protested, of course gaining only laughter in response of his rather pathetic argument.

"Whatever, kid." Bob continued to roll his eyes in response, for once, and very much only once, glad that they were actually nearing Ray's record store, basically the only place you were sure to find Mikey, and for a reason Bob had now found himself almost uncomfortably acquainted with.

"Here we are, Pete... Pete was it?" Bert asked, blushing as he found that he actually forgotten the asshole's name, and Bob couldn't help but choke on his own laughter at that fact, gaining a slightly off gaze from Pete, who however was still generally quite stupid, and in consequence, generally quite confused.

"Pete, yeah." Pete confirmed, exhaling loudly like a twelve year old kid with an inhaler. "So is this like the secret vampire coven or something?"

"This isn't True Blood." Bob rolled his eyes, directing Pete's gaze to the record shop sign. "This is a record store, Ray runs it-"

"Is he a vampire?" Pete exclaimed with such excitement that Bob began to genuinely consider punching himself in the face.

"No, Ray's not a vampire." Bert finished for his friend, well, before Bob ended up punching somebody that was. "But Mikey hangs around here a lot of the time, now please just try your best not to freak out, will you?" Bert found himself pleading to the face of nodding naivety.

"Yes, of course, I'm totally cool, like Pete Cool Wentz - cool is totally my middle name."

"Oh really, I thought it was asshole?" Bob muttered just a little too loudly, because maybe he didn't care, just a little too much.

"Oh, no it's actually-"

"You know what? I don't actually care, let's just go in, huh Bert?" Bob asked, his eyes pleading in his friend's direction, and for a moment, Bert seriously consider fucking with Bob just a little longer, but maybe it was better for the both of them to just get rid of Pete as soon as possible, yet somehow, Bert couldn't help the sickening feeling in his stomach that was screaming at him that maybe Pete was planning on sticking around.

-

"Oh, Jesus Christ, you can't fuck my brother, Frank." Mikey shook his head, burying it in a slightly overwhelmed Ray's shoulder. "Jesus fucking Christ, this is messed up, and you know that, and you know what he’s like and oh god, please don't."

Ray watched almost gingerly as his boyfriend had a mental breakdown against his shoulder as the curly haired of the two struggled to total up the profits of the store, which was really far too easy to get distracted from when Mikey was even within a mile of him, and right now, it didn't look like his boyfriend was ever planning on leaving him alone.

Frank found himself leant almost awkwardly against a CD rack, casually browsing stock that he didn't have enough money to buy as Mikey continued to act like his grandmother and police both his social and sexlife, which was, of course, great fun.

"I like him, Mikey." Frank admitted, his heart feeling heavy even after he'd admitted it to himself, now aloud, because dear god now it felt real, and dear god, now everything felt real, and for the tug on Frank's heart right now, he didn't need a God, he needed a doctor. "And he likes me."

"Yes, but you know who he is and what he's like and what he'll do, and how this will never ever work out, and dear god, Frank, you have the entirety of the male population to fall in love with and it's him. I hate him, and he hates me, and I just don't understand how he's even tricked you into thinking that he actually possesses any form of even vaguely human emotions."

"He hasn't tricked me at all, Mikey." Frank protested, catching Ray's gaze, as he finally gave up on his accountanting duties and turned his attention to the soap opera worthy drama unfolding right before his very eyes. "Ray, come on, people could say the exact same about you and Mikey - back me up here."

Of course, Mikey chose that moment to turn to his boyfriend and send him a glare that roughly translated as 'don't you fucking dare or I won't let us fuck for a week', and Ray, of course had to abide by his boyfriend's demands.

"It's different, Frank, I know, but the thing is, Mikey's well, Mikey, and Gerard is Gerard." Ray shrugged it off, wishing he had never turned away from the profit totally that he'd been doing, for once, because dear god it was a depressing thing to do as he came to realise he could probably make more money by turning this place into some sort of strip club, considering the amount of time he spent fucking Mikey, compared to the amount of time he actually spent selling goods.

"Yeah, and I care about him, and he cares about me, and he's really fucking good in bed, I'll have you know. Best fucking night of my life, I would say, even if it wasn't exactly in the most romantic of circumstances, I let you know that I've never ever come like that before, so tell your brother that he deserves a medal or something, yeah?" Frank could only let his face fall into a smirk at the expression of pure horror that consumed Mikey's.

"What the fuck..." Mikey shook his head, pulling a disgusted face as he continued to ignore the fact that he said this all as he sat practically on the lap of the guy he had at least daily fucks with. "Since when did Gerard start caring about anybody... ever?"

"Mikey-"

Frank never quite got to finish his insult, as the door was pushed open, slamming against the wall with a thud that had the whole room jump, and it really was a movie style dramatic entrance, yet one ruined entirely by the fact that it was given to a pissed off Bob Bryar, hauling some kid with far too much eyeliner into the shop, Bert trailing behind the two of them with a slightly concerned expression lingering so long on his face that Frank wouldn't have been surprised if it was permanent.

"Is there actually any explanation for this?" Ray looked up at that, meeting Bob's eyes, as he considered the possibility of shooting himself right now, because when did his fucking shop become the goddamn Jeremy Kyle show?

"How about you ask Bert as it was his clever idea." Bob rolled his eyes, lighting a cigarette as he left Pete to fall into an almost conveniently placed chair as Bert watched, having kind of wished that the chair wasn't quite so conveniently placed and that he'd ended up falling onto the floor and passing out as a result.

"Can I-" Frank asked, his eyes lighting up as the packet of cigarettes was pulled from Bob's pocket.

Bob caught the nineteen year old's gaze with a look that strongly suggested that he was going to kill him, before sighing aloud as he inhaled a breath of nicotine, and giving up entirely, tossing the whole packet in Frank's direction; the way things were going, Bert already owed him one.

"Bert?" Ray asked, turning to the guy stood almost awkwardly beside the emo kid having some sort of mental breakdown on the chair. "Who's that? What's he doing here? What are you doing here-"

"When will you leave?" Mikey asked, interrupting his boyfriend's 'inadequate' questioning for what he deemed to be the most important question at hand.

"I... uhh..." Bert sighed, shaking his head, and wondering just why he ever went to such lengths to piss Bob off. "This is Pete, and he's an idiot."

"I'm not an idiot-" Pete protested, look genuinely offended by Bert's casual comment.

"Sure fucking thing, and I'm a starfish." Mikey rolled his eyes, only for Ray to pass him a stern look in response, as the curly haired guy found himself actually giving a shit about this Pete, for some godforsaken reason.

"Mikey-" Ray began, but of course, a sentence like that was never finished, as Pete's eyes lit up at the only name he recognised, because oh dear lord, he was getting far too excited about this.

"You're Mikey?" Pete exclaimed, jumping up from the conveniently placed chair and almost sprinting across the room to Mikey, leaving Frank to glance at Bob, who had now taking to smoking beside him in the corner. Bob only rolled his eyes, and gestured with his eyes again to Pete, but that meant nothing to Frank.

"Yes, I- wait, asshole? What the fuck have you said to him?" Mikey exclaimed standing up as his gaze met Pete’s and he began to seriously consider slapping this guy until he got the fuck out of his boyfriend's shop.

"Nothing, I-"

But there once again was another sentence never to be finished as the door slammed open for the second time - another overdramatic entrance, but this time for someone that kind of deserved it.

"Gerard?"

And all eyes had flown to the intruder, Pete quivering a little, as he hoped to god that this guy was a vampire, because if not, he totally needed to be, because Pete reckoned that he was cool as hell.

"Oh, hello brother dear, Frank and I were just-" Mikey was the first to break the silence, an absolutely devilish smirk painted upon his lips, and Pete found himself utterly overwhelmed by the possibility of there actually being two vampires in the room with him right now.

"Mikey." Frank interrupted, giving the guy a stern glare that would have been threatening if the nineteen year old had actually paired it with a threat, but that was something he simply hadn't bothered with, and in consequence had come off as nothing but a little ridiculous.

"What's with the whole party that I wasn't invited to thing?" Gerard mused into the silence that he knew had been created in consequence of his arrival, and really that did wonders for his ego. "I feel totally left out, you know."

"I don't even know, people just kept turning up - I was trying to actually concentrate on profits and sales here, because although as much as people seem to forget, this is actually a shop." Ray exhaled, his gaze meeting Bob's especially, who then only shrugged it off, continuing to smoke like it was nothing and that no matter what happened, nothing could faze him - after all, he'd already encountered and been 'threatened' by Pete Wentz today.

"Hey, I'm Pete." Pete deemed this an appropriate time to introduce himself, only to gain a rather questionable look from Gerard, who found himself wondering as to just how on earth this raccoon eyed asshole had ever made his way in here.

"Yeah, lovely - whatever." Gerard rolled his eyes, stepping right past Pete, and towards his boyfriend, "come on, Frank - let's go."

Frank blushed under Mikey's gaze: a wordless argument occurring between the two of them as Frank nodded to Bob, before following Gerard to the door in the silence as he knew that every pair of eyes in the room were on him, and oh god, that was not fun.

"I hope he's good in bed, yeah, Frank?" Mikey snapped, cutting the tension in two with his words as widened eyes transformed into dropped jaws. "And I hope you're so fucking sorry when everything goes to shit and you're absolutely done for, because I will not give a single shit about you then, and neither will Ray-"

"What?"

"Ray." Mikey stressed, meeting the gaze of his boyfriend as he began to grind his teeth just a little, because oh dear god, nobody could ever listen to him, just for one moment, could they?

"Whatever." Frank rolled his eyes, taking one glance around the room, only for his eyes to land on Pete's, and dear god, he was still overwhelmed as fuck. "Pete, yeah, seriously, just go - this town isn't the place you want to be, not for anything, ever."

"But I want to meet a vampire-"

"Well, you already have, two in fact, and it seems that they're both assholes, so how about you try and talk to one of them about how much of a dick he's being whilst I go chase after the other?"

-

"Gerard?" Frank called out as he found himself jogging a little to keep up with his boyfriend, who was walking away from the shop and away into the shadows at quite a pace indeed.

"What? What is it, Frank?" Gerard called out, turning to face his boyfriend, pushing his hair back from his face, and even considering apologising, but just for a brief moment. "Why do you have to be best pals with my assholes of a brother and the whole fucking town vampire slaying agency up there? You're supposed to be mine."

"Yours, huh?" Frank chuckled a little at that, stepping closer to the vampire.

"Yeah, mine." Gerard stressed, meeting Frank’s gaze only momentarily, and wondering just what mess he was creating for himself here.

"Of course, I’m yours, idiot." Frank giggled, pressing his nose to Gerard's, and jumping a little, as he was pinned back down against the nearest wall, but with Gerard holding him like that, fuck, there wasn't a chance that he was complaining.

"I fucking hope so." And Frank didn't even get a chance to response before his lips were entirely otherwise occupied, with Gerard's specifically, and oh god it felt like heaven in a place that could be only called hell.

"My grandparents are Catholic." Frank found himself announcing into the after kiss silence, gaining a slightly confused glance from Gerard, who wasn't quite sure as to what point Frank was trying to make with this.

"I'm dating and sleeping with a fucking vampire - to them, you’re like the antichrist, and they don't even want me to smoke, and we... we... had- we were fucking, and we are, and I, just, just this is rebellion in its purest form." Frank broke into a smirk at that, falling back against the wall, and trusting in Gerard to keep him up. "Teenage me would be proud. I was such a rebellious little shit, like I was such a fucking whoreass junkie, and I-"

"My fucking whore." Gerard corrected, brushing the hair from Frank's face, the nineteen year old blushing as it was tucked behind his hair. "My pretty little whore. So fucking pretty, you know that, huh?"

"I'm just, I just..." Frank descended into a mess of self-conscious embarrassment.

"You're so pretty, I could come just looking at you, and dear god how fucking perfect and loyal you are, it makes me want you even more." Gerard leaned in, moaning against Frank's ear, nothing more than a private thing for the both of them to share, like a secret, but since Mikey knew about them, Frank very much doubted that they'd really be a secret for all that much longer. "And I can have you - you'll fucking spread your pretty little ass-cheeks all for me, and you'll let me fuck you until you're screaming and you’ll let me continue even then, and you'll let me overstimulate you until you've come six times and you can barely even open that pretty little whore mouth of yours to scream out my name-"

"Fuck, Gerard, I... I... I'm getting hard... I..." Frank moaned out, knowing far too well that this wasn't the time or place at all, but oh dear god, he just couldn't take this anymore, not at all.

"You're forgetting something, Iero." Gerard paused, a smirking creeping onto his face in the silence and the temporary privacy of a public alleyway.

"What, I-?"

"Who am I, frank?" Gerard stressed, pushing the nineteen year old up against the wall, and making him squirm in all the right ways, because maybe, just maybe, Gerard loved playing with his food, and maybe he loved it just a little too much. "What am I? Who am I to you?"

"I'm sorry, master." Frank whimpered, Gerard's icy cold fingertips trailing down the nineteen year old's exposed, pale neck.

"So fucking pretty..." Gerard murmured, pressing down against Frank's pulse in his neck, moaning aloud as he felt it in his fingers. "God, your fucking blood, your fucking beating heart, beating so fucking fast, and all because of me, because you need me and you want me like you've never wanted anything before, don't you, Iero?"

"Yes, master." Frank struggled to push the words out, his breathed render erratic and almost difficult with Gerard's fingers against his pulse and ice cold against his sweating form. "I need you, master, I want you, master."

"Tell me that I'm your master and that you'll do anything for me, that you'll never leave me, and that you'll never let anybody treat you like I do, because I'm your master and you're just my pretty little baby."

"You're my master, I... oh fuck, je- oh fuck, I need you, I could never leave you, I'm yours and only yours, I'll do anything for you to fuck me raw like the pretty like fucking whore I am - your whore, your slut, I am yours, I-"

"You're fucking about to come from this right now, aren't you, whore?" Gerard snapped, rolling his eyes, and hiding just how much he fucking loved how easy this all was, because with Frank he didn't even have to try: Frank Iero would even sell himself to his master if he was asked to, and oh boy, he just did.

"Yes, master, I, I'm sorry, I- ahh... fuck!"

And with that, Gerard disappeared into the shadows, leaving Frank, used and spent, covered in his own come and falling back against a brick wall, but most of all his.

-


	15. I'm Sorry To Inform You, But Technically, You're Dead

"Frank?" The nineteen year old groaned at the mention of his name, rolling around in the sheets of his bed and generally trying his best to ignore the impatient tone with which his grandmother called to him with. "Frank, it's noon. Get out of bed."

Frank considered it for a moment, but soon concluded that he'd rather not and resorted to pulling the covers over his head and going the fuck back to sleep, because really, getting up when he'd been out late last night with his fucking vampire boyfriend was not a good idea at all, but of course, he couldn't just casually bring that up to his Catholic grandmother - she'd probably try and exorcise him without a second thought or something.

"Frank!" She called out again, her voice growing louder as she knocked on his door for a second time, growing more impatient by the second, and her grandson growing simultaneously more pissed off in sleep deprivation. "Get up, come on."

"Why?" He moaned out, wondering why God ever had to create such a thing as the early morning, of course, that and grandparents... Catholic grandparents. Catholic grandparents that cared far too much about everything, and really would not like his vampire boyfriend one bit.

"Because, Frank Iero, you have a visitor." She sighed, opening the door, revealing her grandson curled up like a burrito in his bed sheets with his head buried under the pillow.

"What?" He pulled his head up at that, rolling over in the bed sheets and looking at his grandmother like she'd just told him that she was a Satanist and that they were going to go out and worship the devil again. "Who?"

Jesus fucking Christ, if this turned out to be his asshole of a boyfriend, he was going to fucking shoot him, well if his grandparents didn't get there first - Frank doubted that they were all that kind to vampires, you know, being strict Catholics, and all that.

"He said his name was Bert."

Oh, thank the fucking holy lord.

Frank threw himself back down against his bed in relief, and in fact, now even somewhat motivated to go and personally thank Bert for not being his boyfriend, and not fucking his life up. Although, what was so important that Bert had to go around to his house and drag him out of bed at a time like this, just couldn't be anything but a cause for concern.

"Okay, yeah, tell him I'll be down in like five minutes." Frank shrugged it off, rolling out of bed in his covers after his grandmother had left the room, and cursing like hell as his head hit the floor with an uncomfortable crash.

It took him a few moments to collect himself before he pulled himself up and made his way over to his closet, pulling out the first items of clothing he found and casually throwing them on, before looking himself down in the mirror, and after deeming his appearance acceptable, hurrying downstairs to await whatever surely disastrous news that Bert would face him with.

Frank could only say that he wasn't particularly looking forward to it, because really what ever was important enough to force Bert to actually arrive at his grandparents house, had to be disastrous, and Frank just knew that he'd hate it already, and then there was also the matter of convincing his grandmother that no, Bert did not want to say for lunch or have tea or anything and that he just wanted to severely stress Frank out with some sort of tragic event that had called for world anarchy or something.

"Hey." Bert was sat at the dining table - looking awkward and out of place in the posh interior with his baggy black jeans and shirt with coffee stains on, not that Frank really looked all that much better in his mismatched sweatpants and some shirt from like three years ago, that due to his general unfortunate lack of growth, still fit him. Being a midget had its positives, it seemed.

"Hey, what is it that's so important that means you need to get me out of bed at this time?" Frank exclaimed, sitting down beside Bert, watching as his grandmother made her way into the living room and ensuring that she was fully out of earshot before he turned back to Bert and nodded for him to continue.

"Well, you know, you how I have these visions and shit?" Bert gestured to his head in an awfully generic manner, leaving Frank to nod along impatiently and really just wish that he'd get to the point sooner than later.

"Yeah, go on, what is it?" Frank exclaimed, growing sick with nerves by this point, and even shaking just a little, perhaps just out of sleep deprivation, though.

"Well, I saw... I saw Ray, and he... he... the vampires find out about him and Mikey... and they fucking... they kill him... they drain him... they destroy him - completely, and then Mikey gets to the shop and he's crying and screaming and swearing like mad because his boyfriend's body is there on the floor - fucking dead and there’s just nothing that he can do about it, and he even thinks that they're going to kill him too, but they... they just laugh and threaten him before leaving.. and fuck... I-"

"Fuck, have you gone to see if Ray's alright, I... I-" Frank's words came out all at once as he struggled to comprehend just what he was being told, continuing to battle with himself and how little he wanted to believe this for the sake of the awful reliability of Bert's 'visions'.

"Yeah, I just went to the shop and he's fine, I mean I didn't say anything, like how can you tell someone that you've literally just predicted their death and that's it going to happen because you're rather unfortunately never wrong about these things?"

"Fuck, how do we even? Does this even have any context? When is this going to happen, how can we stop this, I? Fuck, just fuck.... he's my friend, he can't just die, I fuck... I just this can't happen, can it, Bert, I mean-"

"I hate to say it but reality suggests that there's actually very little that I can do about this at all, like I have no more information other than that vision and dear god, I would tell Bob about this, but he doesn't feel all that strongly about Mikey's and Ray's relationship either, and then again he has this don't disturb the peace and natural order bullshit going, and fuck... we just need to stop this."

"We do, but how? How are we even supposed to?" Frank asked, his mind practically exploding at the new information his mind grew full of. "We'll have to tell Ray, and Mikey, like fuck, maybe he can only avoid this fucked up fate thing himself- why don't you know more about this?"

"Because, frank, as we've covered, I can only see so much that it's relevant and works with the plot, therefore I have no idea how we stop this or how it happens." Bert sighed, reeling off an explanation that he was almost tired of repeating by now.

"Fucking fuck this, fuck..." Frank threw his head down, face planting the table with a cringe worthy bang and a terrible bruise upon his forehead, which was perhaps just about worth every single fucking curse word that was strewn from Frank's lips in consequence.

"As much as I hate to say it, after approaching them about this mess, we will have to do some research, and yes, Frank, that involves studying textbooks, because even I don't know anything, but what I do know is that we just damn aren't going to let Ray die... although, considering my past visions, it is highly likely that he will-"

"Bert, shut up, look lie about something to my grandmother as an excuse and I'll go put some fucking decent clothes on and then we'll go and inform Ray of his death."

Bert snorted at that, even if it was a little cruel and uncalled for, and even if Frank didn't half raise his eyebrows in response. "What? Like, I'm sorry to inform you, Mr Toro, but technically, you're dead." Frank rolled his eyes in response, trying his best not be even slightly amused by Bert’s impression, but perhaps cracking a smile, just a little.

"Well, we're trying our best to ensure that he won't be anyway- seriously, fuck, why don't we just ask Bob about this: he's the expert, he'll probably know how to stop this just off the top of his head or something, dear fuck, I-"

"Bob, will bitch on about not changing the course of designated events and will, I promise you, he will, do anything in his power to ensure that we don't manage to stop this happening, because you know what? Even if it does fuck up the entire universe, maybe I don't care, because I don't particularly fancy Ray dying."

Frank nodded, smiling a little as he almost began to put hope and belief into their quest. "Neither do, I, ray, neither do I."

-

"Pete, seriously, get the fuck out of my house." Bob rolled his eyes, watching as the eighteen year old sat down opposite him, on his fucking sofa, in his fucking house, and really this was so fucking messed up, and dear god, he couldn't even get rid of the little emo parasite.

"I have nowhere else to stay!" He exclaimed, almost offended that he'd been asked to leave the house of someone that he was barely acquainted with, and who also kind of hated him.

"Well, maybe you should have thought that through before moving here on a whim just to slay some fucking vampires, huh? Kid?" Bob took another sip of his can of beer, watching the eighteen year old with a certain degree of confusion; he had come to the conclusion that perhaps there was no getting rid of him, but there was most definitely something off about the guy, and that feeling didn't bode well for Bob at all.

"Well, I have a dream, and I'm following it." Pete shrugged it off like it was absolutely nothing, pulling his knees up to his chest as he continued to speak in his almost unnervingly chirpy and nonchalant manner. "That's what you're supposed to do, isn’t it? The American dream and all that?"

"Vampire killing, yeah?" Bob scoffed, rolling his eyes once more as he downed a great deal of his beer, wondering how much he'd have to drink before Pete managed to shut up. "What a fucking dream, hey? And how experienced you are at it as well - phenomenal."

"You can stop insulting me, too, you know." Pete snapped, catching Bob's gaze in an extraordinarily gutsy manner. "Just because I'm younger than you doesn't mean I'm nothing."

"No, it's nothing to do with age, it's just the fact that you're you - that's what makes you an idiot, kid." Bob sighed, smirking a little as he got up from the sofa, glancing awkwardly in Pete's direction and generally just praying that he wouldn't follow him around like some sort of little lost puppy.

"Yeah, and it's just you, that's what makes you a bigoted asshole, Bob Bryar." Pete stood up after Bob, stopping the guy in his tracks, the older of the two taking a couple of moments to recover from the recent hit to his ego.

"If you think so then why don't you just get the fuck out of my house, Wentz?" Bob asked, eyebrows raised as he looked the eighteen year old up and down, wondering really what had messed him up so bad that this vampire ridden shithole was the only place he wanted to be in life, but he soon brushed it off, due to the fact that he generally didn't tend to give that much of a shit about most people, and especially not idiots that marched into this place, ready to fuck everything up for everyone.

"As I said, I have nowhere else to say." Pete repeated, still calm, and still far too nonchalant and Bob began to contemplate the ethics of punching the guy with the face of a twelve year old. Bob went by his own morals and ethics most of the time, and yet, he still couldn't quite figure out just where Pete Wentz fitted in all of this, because he just didn't, and there was something about him that maybe, he just couldn't quite figure out.

"Why are you here- not in my house, but here, in this town, really... why? Tell me."

Pete scoffed a little at first, rather taken aback by Bob's direct question, juxtaposed with his menial and almost sarcastic comments prior, but after a few moments of silence, the sincerity really began to sink in, and for the first time, Pete felt himself truly speechless, because this was a question that should never be asked and simply for fear of being answered, because he couldn't answer it and he couldn't tell the truth to anyone, and especially not Bob Bryar.

Pete didn't particularly do too well under pressure either, and Bob's determined gaze wasn't at all helping the skittish eighteen year old regain his composure, because the words didn't seem to even reach his lips at all, and found himself without words in front of the most impatient guy he'd ever met, and of course, on top of that, the impatient guy didn't particularly like him all that much.

"Well?" Bob continued, soon growing bored of the what seemed to be everlasting silence, and with good reason - staring at Pete's eyes, drowning in eyeliner, wasn't exactly the most joyous of pastimes, and yet somehow, he couldn't help but let curiosity take the better of him as he found himself continuing to wait for the eighteen year old to answer, even if it'd take years.

"It's nothing." Pete forced himself into an over enthusiastic smile as he attempted just to shrug this all off, even after the almost melodramatic pause of silence that they endured as his brain searched for a somewhat better excuse, but it was now made rather evident that perhaps the eighteen year old's evidence, or perhaps lying technique was not quite up to par.

"Yeah, sure, and I'm a fucking jellyfish." Bob rolled his eyes in response, watching the eighteen year old's reaction with great intrigue, because really, he knew that there was just something about this guy that despite the fact that he couldn't quite place, was just far too important to miss.

"Yeah, good for you." Pete retorted, his voice quavering a little, ensuring that his tone was worthy of mockery, however Bob took the moral high ground of keeping his mouth shut and simply observing the manner in which the eighteen year old presented himself.

"If you're going to abuse my home and questionable hospitality, then that's a question you will need to answer at some point." Bob reminded him, perhaps just for the sake of threat, but regardless of the elder's intentions, Pete managed to shrug it off nonetheless, making his way to the door.

"I'm going out." He added as an explanation, leaving Bob to come to the conclusion that he really didn't give that much of a shit, as long as there was actually some peace and quiet for once, so he could carry on being self-righteous and protector esque without any damage to his precious ego.

But there was just something, and Bob knew that now he'd noticed it, it simply wasn't going to leave his head until the day that his head left his body, and still, in this torture, he hadn't a single fucking clue as to what, and right there was the most fatal flaw in being the cleverest person you knew.

-

The walk to Ray's was like a ride in a hearse, and Bert wouldn't shut up out of nerves, going off about every little thing he noticed and even rambling through random and nonsensical anecdotes from his childhood, which really wasn’t helping Frank compose himself at all, because really, telling your friend that there'd been a vision of their death that was most likely going to come true wasn't exactly something Frank had been prepared for in school.

Dear god, when he left New York, he never thought this would have been something that he'd have to do, and in fact this was just the kind of absurd that he wouldn't be all that surprised if he blinked and then just woke up in his bed, and then perhaps even in his bed, not his grandparent's, in New York, and at home, with his parents alive and this fucked up little town rendered nothing more than a figment of his imagination, and Gerard Way rendered nothing more than a figment of his imagination.

It was however the latter that he reckoned he'd have trouble dealing with, because despite the fact that you tended to forget dreams not long after you'd woken up, but there was just something about Gerard that ensured that no matter what happened, even if Frank's brains got blown out of his fucking skull, he'd still never forget Gerard fucking Way, and perhaps something about that was weird, but it just felt nature, and it just felt right, and he just felt loyal.

"We're here, fuck, we're here." Bert's words finally seemed to contain something of sense and Frank tuned back in at that point, fidgeting nervous with the bracelet Gerard had given him, because fuck, this was not something he wanted to do. "How do we even? How? Fuck what do we even do, fuck?"

"We just go in and you tell him briefly about your visions in general, and then casually bring it onto the subject in question, which just happens to be his, his uhh... death, and it'll all be totally fine, because it's not like it's our fault or anything we just... we're doing him a favour by letting him know and giving him a chance of not being able to die, I mean, technically- fuck, come on," Frank grabbed Bert by the arm, pulling him towards the door, "let's just get this over with and then we can have a smoke as we decided that we are all absolutely screwed later."

"Or we could just ignore the issue at hand right now and have a smoke instead and just hope that I was wrong-"

"Yes, that would be a great idea, if it wasn't for the fact that you're never fucking wrong, now come on, for fuck's sake!"

But as Frank pushed the two of them into the store, with enough faked self-confidence for the both of them, it turned out, in fact, that everything would not be okay, and that everything had most certainly gone to shit already, but Bert most certainly hadn't predicted this, because fuck, Frank could not believe his eyes, and it was getting to the point that they were going to fall out of their sockets if he kept rubbing them in disbelief.

Ray wasn't dead, at the very least, and in fact, Ray was nowhere to be found, and it was exactly that fact that had allowed disaster to take place in the form of the sight before them: the two figures jumping apart as they came to acknowledge their presence in the room, and really, Frank was nothing but fucking speechless, and it seemed this was in fact the first time Bert had shut up today, and of course, it was simultaneously this first time that Frank wished for something other than silence.

Because that's all there was silence - silence and awkwardly passed around gazes between the four of them. The four of them being, Frank, Bert, Mikey, and Pete.

Perhaps nothing even needed to be said, because they'd already seen it all, and perhaps not even the most ambitious of liars could make their way out of this one.

"It's not what it looks like." Mikey finally broke the silence with words masqueraded in an apologetic tone that left Frank grasping at possibilities in the struggle of just what to think, because there was nothing to think other than the obvious, but in this case, it was the obvious that also became the unthinkable.

"You were kissing, you were fucking kissing- and fuck, Ray?" Frank exclaimed, his words coming out without absence now, and dear god, it was every emotion all at once as he struggled to figure out the one question on his mind - why. "Ray?" He exclaimed again, meeting Bert's gaze. "What the fuck about Ray?"

"I-I... I'm sorry..." Pete stuttered out, struggling for the second unfathomable explanation of the day, and really, when it came to this kind of confrontation, he'd rather be explaining his whole life story to Bob Bryar, and in fantastic detail too.

"You should fucking say sorry to Ray, you fucking piece of shit, just what the fuck. Mikey, seriously, fuck, why?" It was needless to say that Frank wasn't thinking straight, not that he was ever anywhere near straight in the first place, and his words made it the hit you in the face kind of evident.

"Is sorry not enough?" Mikey choked out, his head spinning as he watched one simple fucking mistake tear everything down. "It was just one kiss, a mistake, perhaps, and there was never anything more, I just fuck-"

"How about you tell that to Ray?"

"Tell me what?"

And all four pairs of eyes spun to see Ray pushing the door of his shop open, and oh fuck, as if things just couldn't be worse.

-


	16. This Chapter Is Like 90% Porn, But It's Better Quality Porn Than Last Time

"What is it with you and him?" Mikey's words came in the form of a thorough interrogation badly masked behind the facade of a casual question, but of course, Gerard saw through it instantly, not that it seemed to make all that much difference, due to the fact that he wasn't exactly rearing to answer his younger brother's question in the first place - believe it or not.

"What do you mean by that?" Gerard played dumb, brushing his hair back from his eyes: the two of them sat behind the mausoleum in a kind of secretive manner, in that they really shouldn't have been there, but it wasn't like it was going to get anyone killed, and therefore left Mikey's conscience unscathed: Gerard wouldn't have minded either way.

"I mean, what are you doing with him?" Mikey rephrased his question, knowing far too well that Gerard had understood him perfectly, and simply just didn't particularly want to take his chances when it came to answering the question. "You're fucking... that's obvious. But is it something else, Gerard? Is he your boyfriend or-"

"I'm his fucking master, Mikey. I don't do boyfriends, and don't do happy little lovesick puppy things. I fuck, and I fuck because it feels damn good." There wasn't an ounce of uncertainty with his response, and that shut Mikey up for a few seconds, as he began to ponder the truth his brother had just admitted to him. "He's so fucking loyal, and so fucking pretty, though. It'd be a shame to end him just now, and put that all to waste, because I can exploit him forever before I have make him pay the price."

"You're such a fucking sadist that it's making me sick." Mikey snapped, shuffling just a little away from his older brother, and generally praying that Gerard wouldn't continue to describe his sexliife in such great detail. "Frank doesn't really want this mess and all this screwed up shit, you know that, don't you, Gerard? He just thinks that you're attractive and he's stupid enough to let his dick think for him. Don't take advantage of that, because despite this mess, he's still my friend."

"I think he knows what he wants, and I honestly don't think he was lying when he was begging for me to fuck him, so here's a suggestion - shut up about things when you don't have a clue regarding what you're talking about, huh?"

"You're awfully possessive over him if you apparently don't care about him, you know that, huh?" Mikey sighed out, throwing his gaze over the darkened horizon, and generally, just away from his brother, and the nonsense he spun from his lips.

"He's mine, I'm his fucking master. I have more than a right to be possessive over him - I practically have to be, so seriously, Mikey, just shut the fuck up-"

"I'm just trying to make sure that my friend doesn't get hurt, you know, with all this fucking mess with Ray, I can't afford to lose everyone." Mikey sighed out, his heart sinking like it had suddenly become an anchor at the mention of Ray and the thoughts it brought, and how once they began to fill his mind, they wouldn't even contemplate leaving' for hours to come, and if Mikey was honest, it hurt like hell itself.

"So this is still about you, huh? Not about Frank at all, and I thought as much too, honestly you're the most selfish good guy I've ever met, and you choose that over being the most selfless bad guy in the world-"

"Because I'm not a bad guy, Gerard, I actually give the slightest hint of damn about anybody, unlike you." And Mikey made those words hurt, with no intentions otherwise, and he wasn't at all afraid to let Gerard know that.

"Well then, I'm not a bad guy either. I care, I care about somebody."

"Frank." Mikey guessed it in one, shaking his head as he wondered how his brother even lied to himself about this mess, but however he did so, he really seemed to do it well. "You care about Frank."

"Just a little. Maybe."

"You love him-"

"Don't fucking push it, Mikey."

"But you do."

And there was just something about the way Mikey said those words that ensured they wouldn't be leaving Gerard's head for an awfully long time.

-

"What did you call me over to the house that totally isn't yours for?" Frank asked, stepping into the house that wasn't Gerard, only to find his favourite vampire smirking at him in such a devilish manner that the nineteen year old couldn't help but feel terribly nervous about.

"What didn't I call you over for." And perhaps Frank would just have to accept that the only answer he would receive was a painfully arrogant display of crypticism.

"Is that the we need to talk face or the we need to fuck face?" Frank asked, biting down on his bottom lip, and perhaps secretly hoping for the latter, because perhaps maybe he was just a little too head over heels for the dark haired mess stood smirking at him.

"Perhaps that's up to you to decide." And with that, Gerard made his way upstairs, leaving Frank to follow almost blindly in obedience, and not a simple complaint was made on either's behalf, because there was just something about fucking and there was just something and fucking each other that was like poison, but a kind of poison that had the absolute best taste.

"I'd say you leading me up to the bedroom was quite honestly a pretty big giveaway, but whatever." Frank sighed out, rolling his eyes as he found himself taking the liberty of closing the door behind them, and leaving Gerard to stroll across the room: his mind distant and obviously deep in thought, and his gaze drifting to the drawer just often enough to make Frank nervous, and yet, it was nervous, but the kind of nervous where it was in the best kind of way.

"Don't make assumptions, especially not about people like me, Frank." Gerard sighed, letting out a little chuckle as he pulled his stupid fucking trenchcoat off, throwing it to the floor, and then rolling up his shirtsleeves, making his way over to the drawer that held all the attention. "Come over here, Frankie. Tell me what you'd like. Tell me how you'd like me to fuck you."

"And what if I said that I didn't want to fuck, and that I'd rather we just talked?"

"Then I'd call you a filthy fucking liar." Gerard snapped, leaving the younger to saunter over to the drawer, a smirk creeping up over his lips. "And it's a good job that you didn't lie to me, Iero, because I don't like liars, and really, I'd have to punish you."

And those were the words that pulled the first slutty little gasp from Frank's lips today, and Gerard took unfathomable pleasure in that, before pulling the nineteen year old closer, and allowing his eyes to fall over the drawer, which turned him on just from the sight of everything, and just from the thousands of possibilities, and the millions of things that Gerard could do to him. 

Frank wanted him to do them all.

Except perhaps not all at once.

"Master, I-" And poor little Frankie barely got two gasp heavy words from his parted lips, before Gerard was moaning, and fucking in love with his little whore's obedience.

"You're too good, too fucking obedient, you're too eager. You fucking want this all and you want me to fuck you forever, and in everyway we can think of, and then, even the ones we can't. You want everything. You fucking want everything, don't you?" Frank nodded: meek and turned on to hell. "And I'll give you nothing. Because whores like you need to learn a fucking lesson."

"Master, I, please-"

"You can't start with shutting up and getting naked..." Gerard paused, his gaze scanning over the nineteen year old with enough lust to fuel an entire porn site. "Unless, unless you want me to punish you, that is. Unless you want me to teach you about everything and nothing all at once, and all right now, and before you can even scream out. And then, after I've punished you, we'll go again, and I'll fuck you so hard, and this time you will scream out for me, and you won't come until I tell you to, unless you want to get punished again, but you're such a bad little slut that I just can't imagine you ever listening to a word I say when my cock is so deep into that pretty ass of yours."

And Frank made a decision that could only be described as 'brave', overall, stupid, but brave, nonetheless. The nineteen year old remained still and met his master's eyes, only to let slip three words, and three words that would be his demise. "Punish me, master."

Needless to say, Gerard needed no further encouragement, ridding Frank of his clothes in less than thirty seconds, and pushing him down against the bed, leaving him there, dazed in the impact as he rushed to the drawer, retrieving a pair of handcuffs, some rope and his favourite vibrator - and really, that was just them getting started, and poor little Frank barely knew what he had coming, and with Gerard's sadistic intentions, it certainly wasn't him.

With Frank on his back against the bed: hands cuffed to the headboard, and ankles tied to each of the bottom bed posts, spreading his legs wide, and exposed him entirely with even a chance to ask, not that he would have ever dreamed of asking Gerard not to. Gerard was one of those people that were determined in all the wrong ways, and once they got an idea in their heads, there was no stopping them until it had been achieved.

And, well, Gerard had gotten the idea to have Frank screaming and begging to be allowed to come.

"That tight enough, Iero?" Gerard smirked, stood, still fully clothed and semi hard at the end of the bed, overlooking his property with the utmost amount of lust.

"Y-Yes.. master." Frank choked out, struggling to breathe just a little: his breathing heavy with anticipation and his eyes never leaving the vibrator in Gerard's left hand - it was no secret as to what his master was about to do regarding him and the object in his hand. "It's tight."

"Good, good. I wouldn't want you squirming when I'm trying to teach you how to listen up and be a good little whore." And there came that chuckle, and Frank was blushing already, because he was going to get fully hard at any fucking minute and they hadn't even started - Gerard would laugh at him, and then he'd probably spank him until he was fucking sobbing out his master's name. "Now, since you seem to want everything, I'll give you just that with this vibrator, I'll give you all."

And that was all the warning Frank got to the object - lubed with nothing more than a little spit, pushed inside him in a few pushes, and as he groaned aloud, struggling to adjust with very little warning and just about no preparation, Gerard turned on the vibrations - at first on the lowest setting, chuckling to himself at the sight before him. "Are you ready for everything, little whore?"

"Yes, m-master, I-I... need... just need- ah, fuck!" The words trailed from his lips as his master turned the vibrator onto its highest setting, turning and leaving Frank to writhe and moan like he'd born to be nothing more than an object of his lust, before he returned with a cockring, because there was no way in hell that his little slut was going to come before him.

"Fuck, please, please, master, it hurts... I..." Frank moaned out against the ache with the cockring on him, now fully hard, and absolutely begging just to come forever, but Gerard had decided that maybe he was a massive fucking sadist, but if it felt this good, then maybe he didn't care at all.

"Stop fucking begging me for something that I'll never let you do, unless you want me to spank that pretty little ass of yours raw." His voice was stern, and it turned it on like hell with the instant that Frank shut up, his eyes growing wide as they met Gerard's.

"Sorry, master. Please don't."

"I'm going to fucking spank you anyway - you should have learned that about me by now. You're not going to tell me what to do. In fact, the whole basis of this is that I own you, and you will obey me, huh? Whore?"

"Yes, master... I- fuck..." He cried out, unexpectant as Gerard brought his hand down against Frank's ass.

"Shut the fuck up." And Frank fucking did, his eyes growing wide as they came into focus with the whip that Gerard had picked up. Fuck.

Frank was not at all ready, but all so fucking eager regardless: his eyes filling with lust as they travelled from the whip to Gerard, and back again. "Yes, master."

"Good." Gerard let a chuckle slip his lips in appreciation of both Frank's obedience and the little whimpers continuing to escape the nineteen year old's lip as he writhed against the vibrator destroying his pretty little ass. "Count to ten for me, Iero."

"Yes, master." Frank found himself repeating, almost like it was a reflex at this point, and nothing made Gerard quite as turned on as his little slut's obedient little moans of his name.

The crack of the whip against the pale skin of Frank's ass came before the breathy and totally overwhelmed, but still perfect, "one, thank you, master."

And Gerard found himself pausing for a moment, resting the hand that didn't hold the whip against one of Frank's spread legs, admiring the bruising red mess against pale skin: his favourite creation yet, and really he was ecstatic to continue, because poor little Frank Iero would be a pretty little picture of a mess when he was done with him.

"Two, thank you, master." Frank didn't wince quite as much as he had in consequence of the first strike, and really, this disappointed Gerard, but of course motivated him to make his little slut wince and moan and cry like a bitch, and nothing would stop Gerard in that task.

"T-t-three... m-master- ah!" Gerard's face broke out into a full smirk in response to a harder strike against Frank, and the bruising growing dark by the second, and his whore continuing to shake and whimper against the sheets; they had barely even started yet.

"Four... f-four, master- t-thank you..." And Frank tried his best not to cry, but the tears came anyway, and much in the same succession as that of Gerard's strikes with the whip: increasingly harder and increasingly fast as they reached the tenth spanking, at which point Frank was struggling to breathe and Gerard was fully hard and ready to fuck Frank deep into the mattress.

"T-ten, th-thank you, I-I... master..." And at that, Gerard dropped the whip to the floor with a bang that caused Frank to jump a little, and the vibrator to move deeper inside him in consequence, causing a dreadful whine to escape his lips.

"God, you're so fucking good, Frankie, I just... I need you, and I need to fuck you until you can't even fucking breathe, and I need you screaming out my name. I fucking want to tease and torture you until the end of time, but it turns me on so fucking much that I can barely even stand looking at you like this, fuck, fuck... fuck..."

"Then, fuck me, please, master." Frank perked up at that, his eyes widening and gleaming almost ridiculously at the idea of having Gerard fuck him, because really, Gerard was right and he was such a little filthy slut. "Please, I need this as much as you do, master, I, please, you want me, you need me."

"Don't you fucking dare tell me want I want, and a little slut like you could barely even imagine what I need, yeah?" And Gerard snapped - just like that, and Frank was scared as fuck: tied up and exposed for his angry vampire boyfriend, but there was something seriously arousing about that, which Frank just couldn't forget.

"I'm sorry, master, I-I just please... let me come, fuck me, please-" And really, Frank should have shut up for good, or at the very least learned that Gerard wasn't in the mood to listen his little whore beg for things that he couldn't have.

"I want to make you bleed. I want to make you scream." Gerard spoke in an utterly nonchalant matter, bearing way to a wide eyed silence on Frank's part, leaving the sound of Gerard's footsteps to resonate around the bedroom as he made his way back to the most important drawer in the world and picked up a special little 'treat' for his little whore. "And maybe if you're a good boy, then I'll let you come afterwards, but only if you're good - bad sluts don't get anything except another spanking from their masters."

"I'm sorry, master. I'll be good, I-" Frank stopped midsentence as his gaze fell upon the knife that Gerard had returned with.

"I want to make you bleed." Gerard repeated, nonchalance only increasing as Frank's lips fell apart to form a perfectly explicit little 'o' shape.

And then before Frank barely recognise what was happening, his hands were uncuffed and his legs untied, only for Gerard to throw Frank down onto his knees, kneeling on the bed beside him as he tied Frank's feet together and proceeded to cuff his hands behind his back. "You're too good to me, you know that?"

"Yes, master." Frank murmured out, his breathing heavy as Gerard let out a chuckle, running the blade across his slut's back, not making any cuts yet, but just teasing him, because feeling his heart beat heavy in his chest was a kind of lust that Gerard could no longer bare, pulling his jeans off and gripping Frank's ass, feeling him shudder against the touch with the vibrator still inside him.

"Keep fucking still, whore." And that was all the warning poor little Frankie got before Gerard held the blade gently against Frank's throat, leaving the nineteen year old to sweat and swallow hard, because fuck, this was freaking him out like hell, but his dick certainly seemed to have no objections whatsoever.

And with the blade so close to his throat, Frank barely even noticed before Gerard had pulled out the vibrator, and the empty feeling overcame him, only to be replaced by Gerard himself in a matter of secrets, and perhaps along with several hundred curses and moans, against the very lightly lubed intrusion that just felt so good and exactly in all the wrong ways.

"Fuck, Ge- master, I... I... ah..." Frank shuddered back against Gerard, barely able to move with how he was tied up, leaving Gerard fully in control and really as much as it frustrated the nineteen year old, he loved nothing quite as much as he loved Gerard taking control and showing him just what a fucking little whore he was.

"I only take that the cockring away and let you come if you're good, Iero, so fucking listen to every little word I say." Gerard snapped, trailing the knife down his boyfriend's chest and sending shivers down his spine as he pushed further in, feeling Frank tighten around him, and god it felt like pure pleasure - Frank was fucking perfect, and Gerard couldn't even begin to argue against that one.

"Yes, master- fuck, I, fuck-" The nineteen year old's words broken away: messy and fragmented as the knife pressed into the skin of his collarbone and stayed there until it drew blood, leaving Frank gasping and wide eyed as Gerard wiped away some of the dripping blood with his index finger and pressing it to his lips before sucking on it.

"Dear god, you taste so good. I fucking want you in everyway, you know that, Frank Iero?"

"Yes, master." And with that, Gerard threw his hips down against Frank's and continued to do so, feeling himself close already, leaving the rest of the world to fade away around the steady rhythm and explicit gasps as he slammed into Frank over and over, until it felt like the only thing in the world, or at least the only thing worth Gerard's time.

Frank was definitely worth Gerard’s time, and there was no question about that, as minutes later, the older of the two was pulling out and pulling Frank down by the hair, coming over his face, without regret and leaving the nineteen year old to deal with the mess they'd made as he relieved him of the cockring, and sitting back and smiling as Frank came harder than ever before, and all over himself too.

"Oh fuck, you look so good covered in your own blood and both our come, god, Frank, fuck." Gerard exhaled loudly, pulling his jeans back up and getting up off the bed, leaving Frank there as an absolute mess as he put the things they'd used back in the drawer, smirking to himself as he closed it, and glancing back at his own perfect little whore on the bed.

"You know I don't just let anyone come all over my face and fucking cut me open, Gerard Way." Frank sighed out, eyes fixated upon the ceiling.

"Oh I know, you're mine, Frank, and mine only." And perhaps that was exactly what confirmed it; Gerard cared, and Gerard cared entirely far too much.

-


	17. Taking Up Residence In Bob Bryar's Butt

Mikey hated keeping secrets, especially from his boyfriend, especially when it involved his boyfriend, and especially when it wasn't just one secret, but two.

And it was two terrible secrets: just as terrible as each other, yet one related to Ray's physical demise, and the other related to Ray's mental demise, and just what Mikey Way had been doing with Pete Wentz.

But it was just what Mikey had been doing with Pete Wentz that was the big problem, because really, when it came to cheating on your boyfriend, there was no easy way to explain it, especially not after you'd told him that he was going to die some time soon, because everyone had been nice enough to give Mikey the responsibility of breaking Ray's heart, twice.

Mikey wondered why he even bothered with friendships, and friendships built on cowardice at that, but he was a vampire and this was a town of vampire slayers and really he had little else to expect at all; he was too be feared, and people had nothing more than cowardice, and in Pete's kind of messed up case, excessive admiration, to give him.

Ray was the only person that saw past that and Ray fucking loved him, and dear god, he loved Ray too, but that had all gone to shit now and it hardly mattered at all, because the reality very clearly was that he and Ray were going end in one of two ways, but very, very soon, and he hated what was his fault, yet in turn, couldn't quite hate himself. He wondered if it was some kind of narcissism he'd inherited from Gerard, but whatever it was doing, it was keeping some sanity about him, and he had to be thankful for that, even if in the most crude of manners.

And maybe he just had to stop thinking: to stop fucking up, to stop stalling, and maybe he just had to put his dignity and anything else he might ever considering valuing about himself aside, and fuck up his life in direct consequence of the way he'd ruined Ray's, and the way, that somehow it just had to be.

Mikey didn't doubt Bert’s predictions at all, as he'd relied on them heavily in the past, but little did he know just how horribly that belief was going to come back and haunt his fucking sanity to shit. It would have been so much easier to hold onto ignorance and discard everything, and lie through his teeth about his fucking fuck up with Pete, and then continue to lie himself away into a state of insanity at Ray's graveside, because this was going to happen, and maybe- just maybe, instead of moping around regarding how to tell his boyfriend how he'd died, maybe, just maybe, he could try and stop this.

Ah, a way to avoid the problem entirely, Mikey Way, being far too familiar with cowardice, could say that he really did rather like the idea of this; the idea of running, but running away from his problems with a far too valid and a far too believable excuse - one he could even fathom believing himself, and truly, that was a terrible thing.

So Mikey left the record store in the early morning, before Ray had woken up, because he'd given up on waiting for him to wake, and he'd given up the idea of actually waking him up years before he'd even considered it, because Mikey was a coward too, and maybe Mikey was just happier not knowing that Ray had been awake for far too long, and just waiting for Mikey to say something, but ended up waiting for Mikey to leave, and sitting there in a state of confused silence as he couldn't piece anything together at all.

-

Mikey just fucking ran. He ran like he had nothing else to do, and really, he didn't.

He hadn't a clue as to how he'd would fix this, and he couldn't find a way out of this mess for the life of him and maybe, he should enlist the help of Bert or Bob or someone, but they'd know of his cowardice, and they'd know what he should have said, but didn't, and he couldn't have that, so maybe he just had to go to someone far too arrogant to even consider doing anything but laughing at the situation, and would only get involved because Mikey's emotional demise did nothing but highly amuse him.

And maybe that was precisely why Mikey didn’t make much of a habit of speaking to his brother.

Gerard, at the very least, was painfully easy to find: hanging around the stupid fucking mausoleum, because he liked the world outside far much more than the mess down below, where people expected him to actually act sanely, and not like some fucked up bloodthirsty, hormonal teenager, because beneath blood and over intimidation, that was all Gerard really was.

And as much as Mikey hated to admit it, his brother really wasn't like the rest of them, and that was made evident in the way that Gerard didn't speak; Gerard just hid in the shadows, and Gerard just listened - he saved his words for people he could intimidate with them, and even Gerard wasn't ignorant enough to actually think he could do anything about the corruption in the vampire community.

Mikey was grateful for that, at the very least, because otherwise, the both of them probably would have been brutally executed quite a while ago.

"What is it now, brother, dear?" Gerard mused, a smirk gracing his lips at the sight of his brother's rather dreary presence; Mikey was making no secret about the fact that he was ruining his life here, and really, that was what got Gerard out his sarcastic remarks and into eyes widened and intrigued, as he watched his brother sit down beside him.

"All you fucking do is sit and smoke here, isn't it?" Mikey scoffed, taking a cigarette from his brother's packet regardless, and lighting it with his own lighter, letting the smoke drift out as he overlooked the woods behind them and tried not to think of the things he knew lurked inside.

"Yeah, well, Frank's not going to be awake for a good while now, and then there's the problem of the sun and my instant barbeque esque death if I do get caught in it, so I haven't really got anything to do until about six tonight-"

"Good, because you need to help me." Mikey pulled on a grin as his brother rolled his eyes, throwing his head back against the mausoleum wall and trying not to swear in response to the fact that it hurt quite a bit more than he had bargained for.

"Hmm... I'd rather not."

"Yeah, Gerard, I cheated on my boyfriend and now his death has been predicted so I'm in the shit and I'm supposed to tell him all of this shit, and I... I basically need some help... stopping this."

"Alright."

"Wait? What? You're actually agreeing-"

"Why not? It's not like it's hard to fuck with the 'way things are supposed to be', and really, this is going to cause disaster, and that's something I've been craving for far too long now." Mikey tried his best to look past the psychopathic smirk upon Gerard's lips at that point.

"But Ray will live?"

"If we do this right, then yeah, but Mikey, I tell you now, you're taking the blame for this-"

"Stop fucking talking and help me save my boyfriend, okay?"

Gerard raised his eyebrows, getting up as he stubbed his cigarette out, muttering something about love and how ridiculous it was that Mikey pretended not to hear.

-

"Gerard, if this is like some sort of fucking virgin sacrifice shit- then I-" Mikey found himself growing ever more uncomfortable as he found himself following his brother through the shadows to an utterly unknown destination with nothing more than the hopes that Gerard wouldn't brutally murder him, simply on the premise that they were brothers. If they weren't, Mikey would have probably been long dead by now.

"No, this is me going to find my fucking book about these kind of rituals and basically finding out how I'm going to save your boyfriend for you - believe it or not, I don’t' actually have to do this. Not at all." Gerard sighed out, turning around only momentarily in order to address his brother.

"Fucking fine." Mikey sighed out, quickening his pace in order to catch up with Gerard and walk alongside his increasingly more agitated brother. "So where are we actually going? Have you thrown this fucking book down a fucking rabbit hole or something- Wait, why do you even have some dodgy ass book on rituals- fuck do I even want to know? Seriously, though like where did you even get this?"

"Stole it." His response was nonchalant, and Mikey could only let a wide-eyed 'oh' pass through his lips as he forced himself to move on and accept it; Gerard chuckled a little in response, because really, his brother was not the kind of guy to get involved in this kind of shit, and really, it was nothing but Gerard's utmost pleasure to corrupt him.

"So where are we going?" Mikey asked again, and Gerard sighed out almost instantaneously, wondering when, if ever, his brother would just learn to shut the fuck up and let him think, instead of asking fucking stupid questions all day.

"Hell." Gerard scoffed, rolling his eyes, completely ignorant regarding the fact that despite how much he wanted to keep this little house of 'his' secret, Mikey was definitely going to find out eventually. It certainly didn't seem like anyone was planning on coming back to live in it, so really Gerard decided it was the perfect place to take residence, and perhaps utilise the bedroom just a little too much for someone who doesn't need to sleep.

"Yeah, spending time with you pretty much means that I'm already there- wait, Gerard are we just fucking- are you breaking and entering?" Mikey's tone quickened as Gerard approached the house, and Mikey's brain jumped from assumption to assumption.

"No." Gerard turned back to face his brother, rolling his eyes and almost laughing it off, as he grabbed the keys from somewhere in his trenchcoat pocket. "I live here."

"What?" Gerard ignored Mikey's mini freak-out at Gerard's now apparent house ownership, and made his way inside, leaving the door open for his brother, if he ever managed to make his way in at all.

"Gerard, this is fucking vampire slayer territory, you're on the outskirts of fucking town, but seriously this is like taking up residence in Bob Bryar's butt!" Gerard cringed at the slightly questionable mental image that his brother's words brought him.

"Yeah, I'm not the one so far up everyone else's ass, Mikey." Gerard rolled his eyes as his brother shut the front door and Gerard made his way upstairs, leaving Mikey to follow him.

"Yeah of course, you're the one spending far too much time in Frank's ass, huh?" Gerard only chuckled a little at that, because, well, Mikey wasn't wrong.

Mikey cringed a little at that, but followed Gerard into the bedroom wordlessly, watching with slight confusion from across the room as his brother pulled open random drawers and continued to look rather disappointed. "Fuck, where the fuck is it?"

"There's some uhh... drawers over there." Mikey gestured to the chest of drawers adjacent to the foot of the bed, and Gerard's eyes widened immediately, his face growing a new shade of pale.

"Don't open those- I know, it's not over there-"

Of course, Mikey only scoffed, shaking his head, and far too vigorously pulled the top drawer open, only for his jaw to fucking fall right off his face at the sight before him, because really, he should have listened to Gerard when he told him not to open that drawer, because no younger brother wanted to discover their brother's sextoy drawer.

"I will never be able to look at Frank the same way again." Mikey closed the drawer.

"I found it..." Gerard added rather awkwardly, blushing just a little as he held up a battered paperback, and really Mikey had to squint for a minute, because he was expecting some sort of mammoth sized, dusty ancient tome written like Latin or something, and not something that more so resembled that library book you lost four years ago.

"Fine, that's good at the very least." Mikey sighed out, trying his best not to glance at the drawer every few minutes, but really he was having great difficultly, because there was just something about the contents of that drawer that had him uneasily curious.

"Mikey, do yourself a favour and try to stop being so fucking jealous of my sexlife will you?" Gerard snapped out, sitting down at the foot of the bed, holding the book in one hand, and lighting a cigarette with the other.

"I'm concerned rather than jealous, trust me." Mikey sighed out, sitting almost awkwardly beside his brother, as Gerard flicked through the book, stopping at one entitled 'Preventing Predicted Death'. "Seriously, where did you get this fucking book?"

"I told you - I stole it." Gerard responded, skimming over the content of the two pages before him.

"Yeah, but from where?" Mikey let out a sigh: heavy with exasperation, as he let his gaze drift off elsewhere, generally just hoping that Gerard would speed the fuck up and they could just get on with preventing Ray's physical death, and in consequence, Mikey's metaphorical death.

"Where do you think?" Gerard rolled his eyes, before turning back to the book, leaving Mikey to let out a gasp of shock as he came to realise that Gerard had stolen this from the fucking vampires, and really, one fucking little book could have cost him his life.

"Ger-"

"I've found it. Right, it's like, something to do with balance and energy and the placement of souls, therefore, with this, it's more soul specific, rather than person specific, and if Bert had this vision of it, than it's most likely murder, something someone's thinking about - you can't predict accidents, you don't plan for them to happen. Who murders him doesn't matter - you just have to keep him safe until you've given the sacrifice of another soul in a position relative to his, which... I guess, ah... so who's this guy you cheated on him with?"

"His name's uhh... Pete, why?" Mikey's voice quavered a little, just a little intimidated with all the ritual esque information Gerard was reeling off like it was nothing.

"Yeah, it's like lover for lover. Keep Ray safe and kill Pete, then you're fucking done, okay-"

"Wait no, I can't kill Pete, I-"

"Look at it this way, who would you rather died: Ray or Pete?" Gerard got up, putting the book away on the bedside table. "Make your mind up, Mikey - you have to eventually, except like this, you don't have much time at all, do you?"

-

"I can't do this, Gerard, I can't just kill him." Mikey was freaking the fuck out to say the least, and really, Pete didn't deserve this at all, and this was all so fucking fucked, but he couldn't lose Ray, and perhaps, he just couldn't barely to lose Ray more than he couldn't bare to lose Pete, and that was truly messed up.

"Whatever, I'm not here to watch you mope and whine over what you can and can't do. Either Ray's going to die or Pete's going to die - no way around that, Mikey, so you better go in and fucking poison him, or your boyfriend's going to be dead by the time you return. It's a murder either way - one way the murder isn't you, surely, but- just make your mind up, okay?"

"Gerard, please don't go, I can't-" Mikey looked up at his brother, truly scared and trembling far more than he'd ever care to admit.

"It's easy. The wine is a gift: it's believable, and he'll believe it until the moment he dies, quite literally. The poison is fast acting and it'll be over before he can even think, and your guilt isn't my problem, Mikey, you should just be happy that like this, you get to keep your boyfriend, and otherwise, otherwise, things don't work out quite like that, do they?"

And with that, Gerard faded away into the shadows, and Mikey was truly alone, and Mikey was truly scared, and clutching the poisoned wine like his life depended upon it, and not Pete’s, and he tried not to think about killing the boy he'd kissed barely a few days ago, and he tried not to think too long about the messed up world that he lived in, because really this was it.

Mikey wasn't a murderer, and he never wanted to be, but for Ray, he would be, and that was the most profound 'I love you', yet one valued only by those in possession of twisted and tortured minds.

And so, Mikey Way ruined it all, for him, and for everyone, by leaving the poisoned wine upon Bob Bryar's doorstep, with a note scribbled in marker pen on the outside - something about it being for Pete, and something like an 'I'm sorry', but discreet, so discreet and too discreet.

And Mikey was truly a coward, so as he rang the doorbell, leaving Pete to his demise, he ran, and he ran like Gerard, and he told himself for the thousandth time never to listen to his brother, even if it was necessary, even if this had just saved Ray's life, because it didn’t feel like that at all.

Mikey wasn't like Gerard, not at all. Mikey's heart was heavy with guilt, and he wondered if he even deserved a boyfriend at all, and with that he ran back to Ray's record store: he just needed Ray to be there, and he needed to cry, and he needed kisses that meant far much more than he'd ever let on, and he needed the kisses and the love he didn't deserve.

-

Ray wasn't at the record store, and Mikey was alone for perhaps far too long: long enough for insanity to creep in and long enough for him to sit on the floor visibly shaking as his head began to spin as his mind threw the worst thoughts at him: thoughts about Gerard, and why he shouldn't trust him, and the millions of reasons as to why Gerard would lie to him, and try as he might 'he's my brother' could hardly justify half of them at all.

But it was then that the silence, a prison like bubble, was broken, and Mikey Way, although reluctantly, began to live again. Ray walked through the door, and Mikey needed him, and he needed to cry and he needed to kiss his boyfriend until he could feel again, and until he was absolutely sure that Ray would stay alive.

But he didn't get what he needed.

He got wide eyes and a look that could convey nothing but the worst kind of hatred, and Mikey felt like curling up and dying, because everything was wrong, and the only answer he could put to the question 'why?' was him, and his selfish existence.

This was entirely a fuck up of his concoction, and that look in Ray's eyes, whatever it was, would ensure that he knew that all too well.

"What the fuck, Mikey?" He finally broke the silence with something other than footsteps, and Mikey couldn't respond not at all. "You cheated on me, fuck- what the fuck?"

"Ray, I, Ray-" Mikey couldn't form a sentence and he couldn't gather an explanation, and at the very least he was just all too glad that Ray was still alive, but he would never forgive him, and this was all his fault, and he couldn't blame it on Pete, not at all, especially not after what he'd done to the boy that never deserved this.

Pete didn't deserve this; Pete didn't deserve a fucked up world like this, and really no one did, but especially not someone so fucking naive.

"I was at Bob's, you know. He fucking told me all Bert had told him about you kissing Pete, and fuck, why? Why the everloving fuck? I hate you. Mikey, why the fuck? And then what's this 'I'm sorry'? Where's my 'I'm sorry'? Where the fuck is it, huh? I drank his fucking wine, you know, he doesn't fucking deserve that shit and neither do you, so thanks for the fucking wine, you know. It kind of tasted off, but I drank ever fucking last drop."

And as the pieces fell into place, Mikey's heart fell apart.

Because Ray did have to die after all, just at his hands.

And almost as if on cue, Ray fell to the floor, choking, eyes bulging out of their sockets a little, and Mikey couldn't look, closing his eyes and letting his heart fall into a million pieces as the struggling stopped, and the room fell to silence once more.

-


	18. There's An OC In This Chapter And Only Because Bert Is Already In This Story

The record store was empty and almost alien in nature: Mikey never went there anymore and Frank almost felt like that he was trespassing by just standing at the entrance.

He didn't want to be here and he didn't deserve to be here - the place felt haunted and there was just no hope of closure, especially with the absolute abundance of knowledge as to how Ray did actually die. The only thing they had was Bert's prediction and the knowledge that despite how preposterous it seems and despite how much you'd hate it to be true, Bert McCracken is always right.

But perhaps Mikey's situation was worse, perhaps sitting alone with nothing but his guilt and entirely apathic brother was worse, but Frank didn't know and Frank could never know; the nineteen year old could only onlook the empty record store and try and piece his heart back together.

Ray had been the first person to be nice to him when he'd first arrived here, and the guy actually gave him hope that this wasn't a fucking cesspit of a town, and although it had indeed turned out to be, Ray was still his fucking best friend.

Frank wanted his old best friend back, he wanted fucking Alex back, and he wanted to go back to New York and pretend none of this ever existed but now with Ray's death he was fucking stuck here - he was tied down in guilt and remorse, and he was fucking stuck. Perhaps this was what the town had wanted after all - to trap everyone that entered inside - maybe Frank didn't entirely want to leave, even if just for Gerard's sake.

Even if his fucking asshole vampire boyfriend was the only hope he had right now, he was still going to hold onto that as tight as ever and not even dream of letting go of what he had; he'd lost too many people, and he was almost enroute to losing everyone, and he hadn't spoken to Alex in weeks now and he needed to call.

He wondered if even Alex had forgotten about him too by now; he wondered if anyone back in New York even cared about poor old, fucked up, Frank Iero anymore. He doubted it, and he tried his best not to care, but that only resulted in a swift exit of the record store - he couldn't face the place, nobody could.

Not even Bob.

And when Bob gave up, everyone was basically fucked: there was nothing quite as comforting as that fact, of course.

As Frank made his way out, he lit a cigarette, far past caring about his grandparents and people they knew and he wouldn't let them treat him like a fucking fifteen year old anymore, because he'd lost everything, let alone his fucking innocence - although, it was quite clear that cocksucking Frank Iero had lost that far too long ago.

He didn't want to have to call Alex and he made a list in his head of reasons why he should never ever speak to Alex again and he tried deleting the contact from his phone but he knew the number off by heart, and Frank couldn't lie to himself anymore - he needed to call Alex, and he didn't fuck care about the repercussions.

The dial tones ate away at him with every unanswered, empty second, and Frank found himself staring off into the shadows, almost too fixated upon a certain point of darkness: just a little bit darker than the rest of the shadows - unnerving, but not necessarily important, and Frank was so transfixed upon the darkness, he almost didn't noticed when Alex actually picked up, and maybe he wouldn't have if it wasn't for his voice: the voice that fucking changed everything and sent his mind into overdrive.

"Frank?" He was confused, almost as if he never even expected Frank to ever call again, and the nineteen year old didn't quite know what to think or how to feel about that. "Frank?" He repeated into the silence.

And at that, the nineteen year old seemed to jump back into life, almost like he'd been momentarily paused for some godforsaken reason. "Alex." Saying his fucking name was enough to fuck Frank over, because there was too much history between them and Alex was his best fucking friend and simultaneously his worst enemy, he was the best person he'd ever met and simultaneously the worst - he'd fucked Frank and he'd fucked him over completely.

"You ever coming back to New York, Frankie? Miss you, you know? Fucking want you - you fucking want me too, don't you-" Frank finally managed to react, having been almost distant, his head being in a separate universe altogether just a few moments ago.

"Alex, my best friend died. He fucking died and I don't know what to do." That shut Alex up, momentarily at the very least, but this time, Frank needed answers and that was what Alex was good at - he always had an opinion, and he always had too much of it. He always had an idea of how he thought thing should go, and what he wanted you to do - there was no question of anybody else, and he was just too good with words and too goddamn good-looking to ever let people let on to that.

Frank knew him too well, though, and still, even after completely getting away from him, here he found himself calling that same fucking number again.

"I thought I was your best friend." Alex finally responded and Frank could fucking sense the smirk.

"You are, I mean, he's fucking dead now anyway, I-" Alex cut him off before he could quite break down into tears.

"How did he die? What happened?" Alex was just too nonchalant about this, and well, about everything and maybe, especially in times like these, that was a cause for concern, but right now, Frank just needed someone to fucking tell him what to do.

"I don't know, he just-" Frank stopped, soon realising that he could never tell Alex about Bert and his predictions and about Gerard, his vampire boyfriend, and about Bob who just dealt with shit, because his life right now almost seemed to be in a fucking parallel universe to the one back with Alex in New York where vampires and hallucinations only existed as side effects of self-medication. "He was fine and then Mikey's fucking screaming at me that he's just dead on the floor - fucking dead, no fucking sign of what killed him at all, he's just dead."

"Who's Mikey?" It seemed so fucking irrelevant and Frank didn't think it mattered at all, but he answered regardless, because he trusted Alex right now - he needed to, and he hated that.

"Ray's boyfriend, well, he was- I... just-"

"You sure Mikey didn't kill him?" Alex asked and Frank seemed to physically recoil at even the possibility, because Mikey fucking loved Ray, sure he kissed Pete, but- he kissed Pete.

"No, he wouldn't, but, we- me and Bert we caught him cheating on Ray the other day - he was kissing this other guy called Pete, and he said it was a mistake, like a one time thing and that he was fucking sorry, but I don't know. Ray fucking loved Mikey, and Ray was like my best friend, I-"

"I'm your best friend, Frank. Don't fucking forget that, okay?"

"I know, Alex." Frank sighed out, taking a drag of his cigarette. "I fucking know."

"Good." Alex paused and Frank really just couldn't help but be nervous. "Come back to New York, will you? Sometime soon anyway, I mean, you'll have a funeral to attend and shit, but come back. You went there to get away from your parents' death, didn't you? Now come here to get away from Ray's, what do you say?"

"I don't know, Alex, I just don't know." Frank sighed out; his head a fucking clusterfuck and this was nothing more than a regular side effect of having any kind of conversation with Alex. "I need to be here for Mikey and shit, and Gerard, and-"

"Who's Gerard?" Alex stressed, and Frank fucking hated to answer him, and fuck, Alex always knew when he was lying.

"Gerard's my boyfriend."

"You didn't tell me you had a boyfriend." Alex's answer was almost immediate and his tone made his disapproval rather evident.

"We haven't spoken in a few weeks, I would have told you otherwise-"

"Tell me about this 'Gerard'. What's he like?" Alex fucking cared far too much, but really, there was nothing Frank could do but answer, and it was taking his mind off Ray, at the very least.

"He's got black hair, and he smokes, and he a bit of an asshole, but he's really, really hot, I-"

"Yeah, whatever, lovey dovey fucking bullshit - I don't care. Tell me how he fucks you, Frankie. Tell me, is he better than me? Does he make you come so hard you forget your own name and you forget all about me, does he, Frankie? Does he fuck you until you're begging him to stop? Does he fucking use you like the little fucking whore you are? Are you his whore, Frankie? Are you?"

Frank exhaled loudly, his breath catching in his throat as Alex seemed to explode in rage, and god, he didn't fucking like the idea of Gerard one bit, but Alex couldn't fucking control Frank - they didn't even live near each other anymore, and that brief realisation gave Frank the balls to mutter his final comment before hanging up, and making a mental note never to call Alex again.

"Yes."

-

"They'll just fucking burn the body without a word or a care, Pete - we can't fucking just hand him and let the church deal with what's left of him. They maybe be stupid, but they're not actually stupid enough to actually go into the graveyard." Frank couldn't help but blush a little at that, and he swore, that someone, probably Mikey, tossed him a look at that.

Gerard was absent from their little makeshift funeral, and although Mikey was the only one who fully knew why, just about everyone else could make an educated guess in the direction of apathy. Frank couldn't help but miss him, though, especially when his head was nervous and cluttered as a result of his earlier conversation with Alex - he knew it was nothing, but Frank just couldn't help the way his stomach was tying itself up in knots.

"I feel kind of uncomfortable around dead bodies." Pete admitted, his tone kind of anxious and he was going an unnerving shade of red, and still, of course, Bob couldn't help but snort in response: the memory of Pete wanting to be a fucking vampire slayer in his mind.

"Then fucking go. He didn't fucking know you." And perhaps, perhaps those words would have been okay, and perhaps no one would have even batted an eyelash at those, if Bob had been the one to say them, but in reality, it was Mikey's lips from which they were thrown.

And everything fell to shit, because by now, everybody knew, fucking everybody knew about Mikey and Pete and what had happened, and it was from then on that people began to speculate regarding Ray's death, but Frank was certain in the fact that he would never go as far as suspecting either Pete or Mikey to be at all capable of his best friend's demise.

"Fucking don't, Mikey." Pete sighed out, stepping away from Mikey and ending up awkwardly close to Bert, who close only send a look in Frank's direction, to which the nineteen year old found himself only mildly amused by. "I'm staying. I care about him, okay."

"If you care about him you wouldn't have kissed his fucking boyfriend." Bob rolled his eyes, leaving both Pete and Mikey blushing and wide eyed as he as he approached the coffin, and really, this was a shitty fucking field to bury him in and Bob Bryar was a shitty fucking vicar, but it had to do - it was better than whatever alternative the fucking church would 'offer'.

"Anybody want to say anything of value?" Bob sighed out, stressing the last word just a little too much, and Frank felt awkwardly obliged to step up in the silence and say something, anything about fucking Ray Toro that hadn't been strung out of jealousy, cheating, and lies. Mikey should just fucking learn that apology isn't a synonym for eulogy.

"We're going to miss him and he didn't deserve to die like this, but I guess, at least we know now to trust whatever Bert sees..." Frank sighed out, having spoken all too fast and now entirely run out of things to say. "He was best fucking friend I'd ever had, I mean, he was nice to me, well after a moment, when I first arrived here, and I owe him that, because I was so fucking alone and so fucking lost after coming from New York with dead parents- I... I just... he was my best fucking friend and I think he still is, really. He doesn't deserve this and he doesn't deserve what happened to him, and he doesn't deserve people lying to him, right to his fucking grave-"

Mikey didn't let Frank finish, and really, just perhaps the nineteen year old had gone just a little too far with that, but he didn't care - he wanted this to mean something, and for once, even if it was just once, it did.

"He fucking found out in the end, okay, and he fucking hated me for it. I hope you're fucking happy with your fucking asshole of a boyfriend that fucking 'loves' you - I bet being able to lie to yourself like that, feels good, doesn't it?" And once Frank had taken it just one step too far, there was no stopping Mikey.

"Fuck you, fucking fuck you, Mikey - you don't fucking know anything, you know that-"

"What was this fucking speech five seconds ago about respecting Ray?" Bob snorted, rolling his eyes: fucking tired of this bullshit, especially the bullshit that involved Mikey Way, because really, that seemed to be the large majority of it. And it was just a belief like that, which allowed Bob to keep his firm belief that there were never any good vampires.

"Mikey's the one fucking everything up here, though, fucking come on." Frank didn't even care that he was being immature anymore, and only about fucking Mikey Way and what he'd said about Gerard that just stuck with Frank to the point that it made him uncomfortable.

"Frank..." Bert sighed out, shaking his head. "Just fucking leave it - let's get this over with-"

"You what? Fuck this, fucking fuck you all. This is a shitty ass funeral anyway - this isn't about Ray, it's all about fucking Mikey, and it always is." And with the silence he'd stunned his 'friends' into, Frank stormed off, making his way down the hill and to a certain house on the outskirts of town where he knew he'd find that 'fucking asshole of a boyfriend' of his.

Gerard could make it better, Frank assured himself of that, and even if he couldn't, then Frank was just beyond certain that Gerard could fuck him hard enough to ensure he completely forgot all about this mess, and especially all about Alex, and the fucking mistake he'd made by calling that asshole earlier today.

Because that final 'yes' Frank had uttered, just didn't leave the nineteen year old's mind, because really, he meant it more than he could ever know.

-

"Took you that long, really?" Gerard snorted a little as Frank let himself in through the unlocked front door, leaving the nineteen year old to stare at his asshole of a boyfriend with a great deal of confusion. "That's hardly a fucking funeral, Frankie, honey. You were the only guest that hasn't fucked him over big time, you know? Mikey did a lot more than cheat on him."

And with that, Gerard made his way upstairs, leaving Frank to follow with a million questions and unspoken promises on his mind.

"What do you mean about Mikey? What did he do?" Frank asked, making his way into the bedroom behind Gerard, who really made his intentions anything but discreet in the beeline he made to the drawer - that fucking drawer that picked up Frank's heartbeat to almost double its usual speed.

"Tell me about you first, Frank. Tell me what you haven't told me." Gerard's tone was casual, if not a little agitated, and Frank couldn't help but feel a little nervous as he made his way over to the bed and sat down, leaving Gerard to rummage around in the drawer, ensuring that Frank remained just so fucking on edge that he had a certain difficulty breathing steadily.

"Uhh... I..." Frank stuttered out, his eyes wide as he struggled to recall anything worth mentioning at all. "Bert had a vision that Ray died before he did, but-"

"You visited the record store this morning, and I was there - well outside at the very least, in the shadows. Tell me about that phone call, Frankie." And just like that, Gerard cut right to the chase, and Frank practically fell apart as his head was suddenly filled with nothing but thoughts of fucking Alex.

"I was talking to Alex - he's my friend from New York, and he always knows what to do. I needed some advice about Ray-" Much like Alex, Gerard didn't bother to let Frank finish his sentence.

"More like an ex-boyfriend, huh?" Gerard snorted, turning around with a pair of handcuffs, and Frank didn't even answer, only got up and stripped naked, leaving Gerard to smirk and let out a little chuckle. "You're too good to me, you know. Come on, are you going to let me tie you up and fuck you hard?"

"Yes, master." Frank's response was immediate and far too eager indeed.

"I want you to forget all about this Alex, I'm your fucking master. You got that, Iero?" Gerard snapped, pulling off his shirt as Frank nodded and got on his knees.

"Yes master." Frank nodded, looking up at Gerard in a manner reminiscent of porn, and really, Gerard had to do something about that little slut of his.

"You're fucking beautiful. Fucking perfect. Fucking obedient. And fucking mine." Gerard smirked, cuffing Frank's wrists together. "You want to prove that to me?"

Frank paused for a moment this time, looking up at Gerard with the most lustful gaze the vampire had ever seen, before uttering another, almost innocently strung. "Yes master."

-


	19. Yet More Porn, Fucking Sue Me, Whatever

Frank found himself tied to the bed with his hands cuffed together, his legs spread and his knees up in the air - utterly at Gerard's mercy, and enjoying it more than anything, because god, there was just nothing that the nineteen year old loved more than being Gerard's little slut.

"Fuck, you're so fucking pretty. You know that, don't you? Or do I have to show you just what you do to me and just how you make me feel?" Gerard smirked, having returned to the drawer and leaving Frank's heart beating like never before. "Because, fuck, I want to do everything to you. I never want you to stop screaming out my name and I never want you to forget that you're mine."

"I could never forget that." Frank assured him, his voice cracking a little as every little hair on his body seemed to stand up at once. "Never."

"You're such a fucking slut - it's fucking ridiculous." Gerard chuckled, pulling a buttplug out of the drawer. "And I bet a little slut like you would want nothing more than to be so fucking full." He over-emphasised his words for the sake of Frank's reaction and the little whimpers that the nineteen year old never quite succeeded into suppressing, and just the way that those hazel eyes of Frank's grew so wide when they met Gerard's. "Tell your master what you want, little slut."

Frank moaned in response, his heartbeat increasing as Gerard sat down on the bed beside Frank, who was still squirming far more than Gerard would have liked. "Master- I... I-"

"Fucking keep still, you slut." Gerard rolled his eyes, moving onto his knees and pulling Frank's legs apart like they were nothing, before grabbing onto the younger's hips and making sure that he dug his fingernails into that pale skin of Frank's entirely far more than was necessary - really, he was just marking his territory, and really, in Gerard's eyes at the very least, it was very necessary indeed. "You can't stop squirming and you can't stop fucking whinging, and I haven't even put the fucking plug in you yet."

"I want it in me." Frank spoke up: far too quick and far too eager, but Gerard didn't mind at all, in fact, he seemed proud of the nineteen year old's slutty behaviour more than anything.

"Of course you do." Gerard snorted, trailing fingertips down the younger's thighs and stopping to glare every time Frank let out a helpless little breathy whine, because he knew that by now, he was entirely in Gerard's control, and it gave him an odd kind of ecstasy. Frank didn't know why and he doubted that he'd ever know, but all of a sudden, he really just fucking loved being owned, being Gerard's, and he felt like there was nothing else in the whole that he could ever possibly be other than Gerard's little whore.

And he wore the bracelet Gerard gave him everyday just to prove that.

"Such a fucking shame that the lube's over at the other side of the room isn't it, Iero?" Gerard chuckled, pulling away, leaving Frank to whimper at the lack of Gerard's cold touch on his skin. "Hell, what will we ever do? I'll have to leave you- and you're such a little whore that you couldn't possibly survive without me touching those pretty little thighs of yours, could you-"

"We don't need it." Frank exclaimed, breaking Gerard's clearly baited words with just the response that the vampire wanted to hear. Gerard met his boyfriend's gaze with widened eyes, almost as if to say 'are you sure about that?'. "I can take it without, master. I'll be good, master. I just feel so fucking empty, I-"

"You want me. You want me to fuck you, don't you, Iero?" Gerard snorted, refusing to touch the nineteen year old despite his continuous whining, and just for the sake of angering him.

"Yes master." Frank's reply was instant, and on Gerard's end, entirely expected; he fucking owned Frank at this point, and he knew it.

"I'm sorry, but you've got to earn it, Iero." Gerard chuckled, watching as Frank's eyes widened further it what Gerard couldn't help but hope was disappointment. "Sluts like you have to work very hard to get rewarded, because fuck, punishing you is just so much more fun."

"Can I have the plug at least?" Frank asked, puppy dog eyes intact and Gerard knew it was fucking pathetic, but there was nothing quite like knowing that he was entirely in control of Frank, and that the nineteen year old would adhere to his every word and with very little questioning.

"You're forgetting something there, aren't you?" Gerard's tone grew harsh as he brought his hand down against Frank's ass, leaving a red mark that he hoped would bruise, at least just for a little while. "What am I, slut?"

"Sorry, master." Frank blushed, his tone breathy, and his head spiralling out of control at the unexpected, yet perhaps overly appreciated, slap to his ass. "Please may I have the plug, master? I'll be good, I'll do anything-"

"Anything?" Gerard's eyes lit up at that, and Frank knew within in an instant that he'd made a horrible mistake, but something about just how fucking excited Gerard got just couldn't help but intrigue him.

"Yes master." Frank sighed out, biting his lip and trying not to think of the consequences.

"Let me gag you, let me blindfold you and let me tie you up on your hands and knees - let me leave you fucking scared and uncertain, and let me control you completely. I'll plug your pretty little ass up, and I'll even let it vibrate, but I'll bring a little knife out to play, because I want to make you bleed for me, Iero. I want you to know that you'll only ever be mine. What do you say, slut?" Gerard grinned, watching as Frank began to sweat a little as his mind fell into torment regarding the eventual outcome of the decision he was faced with.

"Will you let me come, master? Will you touch me? Will you fuck me?" Frank asked and he hated to say that he was seriously considering it, but Gerard only rolled his eyes: they were doing this regardless - it was just politer to ask.

"If you're a good boy. If you don't squirm and you don't struggle, and if you make sure you look so fucking delicious that there's nothing can I do about the urge to fuck you until you've come harder than ever before, then yes, I will." Gerard smirked, untying Frank from the bed and pulling him up onto his knees before him. "What do you say, Iero?"

"Yes master."

-

It was only when Frank was utterly in Gerard's control that he began to grow just a little nervous, because he couldn't fucking see, he couldn't fuck talk, he couldn't fucking move, and all his trust was in Gerard, and just to add to that, Gerard had a fucking knife, and maybe Frank should have thought with his head instead of his hormones, but there was just something about saying 'no' to Gerard Way that had rather recently become nothing but impossible.

"I've lubed it a little. I know you didn't want me to, but this is different, you've never been such a whore for me before and I'm going to reward you for that." Gerard's voice grew louder along with the sound of his footsteps as he approached Frank: kneeling on the bed and utterly in his control. "You ready? Just nod, okay."

Frank nodded, the gesture accompanied with muffled words that became nothing but indecipherable, slutty moans; Gerard appreciated them nonetheless.

The vampire spread Frank's legs a little more, chuckling as he gasped with the cold touch against his skin once again. "I'm going to stretch you first. Just a little - I promise. I'm as eager as you are, but I don't want this to hurt you. It's something else that's supposed to hurt here." Gerard smirked all he liked, because Frank had no fucking idea if he was or not, but of course, due to experience, Frank highly expected it.

Gerard pushed one finger in at first, watching as Frank almost leaned back into his touch. "Fucking slut." And in response to the appreciative little mewls, he added a second and Frank shivered, leaning back and almost attempting to fuck himself on Gerard's fingers. "Don't you fucking dare - behave."

And with that, Gerard pulled out, grabbing the buttplug and pushing it in, leaving Frank to moan against the gag as he turned on the vibrations: just a little, of course, he didn't want to distract Frank from the main attraction here.

As Frank continued to moan and squirm, Gerard grabbed the knife from the side - it was a small blade: sharp but not too sharp, capable of hurting, but not dealing severe damage, and that was exactly what Gerard needed right now.

He started in silence, pressing the cold tip of the blade, at first gently, against Frank's chest, letting him gasp, before dragging it down the centre of his chest, gradually applying more pressure until he'd created a wound deep enough to draw blood: beautiful little crimson droplets against Frank's pale chest, and fuck, Gerard was getting hard over this - over the sight of his bleeding little slut.

He was so fucking hard and he couldn't help but make sure Frank knew about it: getting up and pressing it against Frank's face. "Fucking feel that?" Frank moaned in response, leaning in, and Gerard could tell that he wanted nothing more than to choke upon it. "I'm so fucking hard for you, fucking whore." Gerard chuckled, pulling away, and taking advantage of the distraction and pressing the tip of the knife down at the top of Frank's back, repeating the actions he'd taken upon Frank's chest and receiving perhaps even more satisfying results.

"I miss your whining, you know? I miss you calling me 'master', and I miss your begging. I want you to tell me how much it hurts, and I want you to plead. I'm tempted to take that gag away. What do you think, slut?" Gerard received adequately slutty little moans in response and rolled his eyes before undoing the gag and throwing it down onto the bed beside them.

"Fuck me, master." And of course, that was the first thing to escape Frank's lips, and of course, he received nothing but a slap for that, and even Frank would admit that he deserved it. "I'm sorry, master, but I'm so hard for you - I need this, and I need you."

In response, Gerard only turned the vibrations up, and Frank let out a moan loud enough to have Gerard pressing the blade against Frank's neck - gently, of course. "You can't see it, but you can feel it, can't you, slut? You've been nothing but trouble ever since I let you speak, you know?"

"I'm sorry, master." Frank exclaimed, his breath growing heavy as he awaited punishment of some sort.

"Hmm..." Gerard sighed out, considering the worth of his apology. "Let me bite you, Iero-"

"Yes master." And Frank was agreeing before Gerard could even finish his sentence, leaving the vampire to chuckle as he placed the blade on the bedside table, and pressing his lips against the back of Frank's neck: his words nothing more than a whisper that Frank could fucking feel against his skin.

"I want to taste you, and then, dear god then, I'll throw you down onto the bed - on your hands and knees and I'll probably spank you a little - just for being so damn pretty, and then, then I'll pull that plug out of your pretty little ass and fuck you until you're screaming. Let me bite you, Iero."

"Yes master." Frank agreed for the second time, beginning to sweat a little as Gerard began to kiss the back of his neck, the kiss growing more angry and more passionate as it began to bruise and soon enough, Frank began to bleed - just a little: that was all Gerard need to taste before he was driven absolutely fucking crazy.

Gerard uncuffed Frank's hands as he pulled away - harder than ever before and all because of this stupidly pretty little fucking slut of his. "Get on your fucking knees." He snapped, leaving Frank to gasp as he scrambled to follow instructions, nearly falling flat on his face amidst the process of doing so. "Fuck, you want this more than I do, don't you? And that's nearly fucking impossible, but-"

"I do, master. I need this more than ever."

And for that, Frank got the previously promised spanking: his master's hand hard against his ass with no warning until the actual impact of the blow. Frank, of course, enjoyed it nonetheless, at first mewling and jumping a little in shock, before moaning a little and spreading his legs, pushing himself closer to Gerard until the vampire's hand was resting against his ass.

"You're asking for another like that, slut." Gerard chided, running his fingertips down Frank's ass, just to be a tease and just to ensure that Frank was practically at breaking point before he even considered pulling the plug out of his little slut's ass.

"Yes, I am, master." Frank couldn't help but comment in response, despite knowing the consequences of such actions all too well; he didn't care how hard Gerard hit his ass and how much it bruised and how much it hurt to sit down tomorrow - he didn't care at all, he just wanted to obedient and he just wanted to be his master's little slut.

Frank was expecting the second slap against his ass, and he wasn't prepared for, but definitely knew he deserved the third, the forth, and the fifth. He even found himself smiling a little - a fucking masochistic smile that was entirely Gerard's fault, because he was hardly the same person since he'd met the vampire, well, in the bedroom at the very least.

And although that wasn't necessarily a bad thing, he knew that Alex and that the Frank Iero from New York would do nothing but look down upon the well-behaved little slut that did everything and far too much for his master. But right now, this was all Frank Iero was and all that he felt like he could ever be.

And yet he was content - utterly belittled from the self he once knew himself to be, but content in such a position, or at least so that not a single discomfort was raised as Gerard continued to spank him: alternating between cheeks and hitting him harder last time, actually shocking the nineteen year old as he reached number ten, and just like that Gerard stopped and Frank started breathing again, and really, he hadn't even realised that he stopped - he didn't think much of it, but perhaps he should have.

"I can't possibly let you enjoy yourself too much can I, Iero?" Gerard smirked, playing with the plug: grabbing it and pulling it in and out of Frank's ass, just a little and just gently with the vibrations turned down - he didn't want his whore coming already, especially not without him, he was however, incredibly open to his little slut moaning for him. "You're not going to come until I do, and then until I let you. You got that, Iero?"

"Yes master." He attempted to keep calm and his response simple, but it was littered with gasps as Gerard decided to be an asshole and purposely make it harder for him to speak as he began to move the plug more vigorously, before stopping completely and just pulling it out entirely, leaving Frank to let out a disappointed whine, as expected.

Gerard left Frank to moan and beg as he lubed himself up; Frank was already stretched and he was stupidly hard so really there was no point in doing anything other than getting straight to the point and pushing his tip against that pretty boy ass of Frank's.

"Please.... master." Frank overemphasised his words, pushing his ass up against Gerard and really, the elder couldn't help but laugh, giving Frank a light slap on the ass, before spreading his legs - nice and wide, and then gripping him by the hips: too tight, but that was just how this was going to be.

"Are you ready, Iero?" He whispered, shivering a little, over come by want and hating teasing Frank right now, because like this, he was teasing himself too more than anything.

"Yes maste-" Frank didn't quite get to finish his response, as Gerard found himself pushing into his slut with just the first syllable, and soon enough Frank's words faded out into moans that were drowned out by Gerard's cursing as he began to grip Frank's hips tighter as he found himself fucking the nineteen year old so hard that he couldn't fucking hold himself up anymore.

And still, Frank never complained, and still, Frank was the most obedient little whore that anyone had ever met, but that was a side of him that would always be exclusively Gerard's.

"Don't you fucking dare come." Gerard snapped, pulling Frank up against him and fucking him deeper, leaving the nineteen year old to submit to Gerard entirely, breathing far too heavily to even consider throwing out a response, and simply concentrating on his master's orders as he let Gerard fuck him so hard he was dizzy, and for what felt like forever.

"I'm fucking close, Iero." Gerard moaned out, his words against Frank's neck and he didn't even expect the nineteen year to respond, only grabbing him harder than ever, thrusting into him so much that it had to hurt like hell, and letting go all at once: coming deep in Frank's ass and falling forward as Frank fell onto the bed, panting heavily and his head spinning - still fucking hard.

Gerard, still fucked up and his head clouded with post-orgasm dysphoria, reached for Frank's dick, jacking him off as fast as he could with fingers that didn't quite feel real at all - his body still tingling and his head still spinning after having come so fucking hard.

And within seconds, Frank was coming too - all over his pretty little chest and Gerard managed a chuckle, kissing his boyfriend on the cheek as he pulled out, and lay down on the bed beside Frank, who only moved to curl up into Gerard's side, and although it was sickening cliché and cutesy, Gerard didn't mind at all, because Frank Iero was the best little slut that he'd ever had.

"Gerard..." Frank exhaled, his words pressed into Gerard's side.

"Frankie?"

"I think I love you."

And, just like that, Gerard's little bubble of perfected reality popped, and if Frank was falling in love with him, Gerard was just fucking falling, and not in a good way at all.

-


	20. Good News - Nobody Dies In This Chapter, In Fact, Kind Of The Opposite

The record store felt empty without Ray, and yet somehow, Mikey still couldn't help but gravitate to the place, and he often found himself wasting away many a night inside the now abandoned establishment.

Perhaps he should have continued on the business, and maybe that would have been what Ray would have wanted, but he couldn't be happy in this place - it just felt empty, it just brought despair and quite honestly, without Ray and that stupid fucking smile of his, Mikey felt lost, and really, the only thought he had to comfort himself in his lonely silence was that at the very least, Mikey had tried to save him.

Even if Mikey's attempts had been what had done the deed in the end, at least he'd tried to make things right, even if it wasn't exactly by the most lawful of means, Mikey had loved Ray, and Mikey had tried, and he reckoned that should have been enough, but nothing was ever quite that good, and the secret to self composure simply lay in the art of lying to yourself.

But perhaps it was only lying that had brought Ray to his grave: well, cheating, per say, but it was just as horrible, and Mikey could apologise for a thousand years but he'd still never be able to make it up to Ray, and now Ray was gone, he could never even try.

Trying was worth for something, and perhaps, some would even say that trying was everything - Mikey would disagree, of course, but perseverance was something he had to admire. The vampire was never at all good at holding on to things he should have: he let people go too easily and for all the wrong reasons, and now he was nothing but sentenced to a life of fucking people up.

It was just that unlike Gerard, he could never enjoy it.

This lifestyle, this fucking murder scene of a lifestyle was practically made for Gerard, and Mikey would perhaps even go as far as to say that it was all his older brother had ever wanted, but practically the opposite could be said for Mikey, and perhaps the younger should have prided himself on the morals and good heartedness that separated him from his cold and manipulative brother, but right now, he didn't fucking care about being special, he didn't even fucking care about being good, and he cared even less about being him.

Mikey Way just wanted to be okay.

But it rather seemed like God wasn't listening, not that God would even consider listening to the pleading cries of vampires and the general scum of the earth. Perhaps it was better if he was just left alone, and perhaps he would learn to cope some day, maybe even one day he could walk down this alleyway without stopping and bursting into tears as his feet took control and forced him into the record store that held far more meaning to him than anything ever should.

But he'd call that a long shot at the very least.

"Mikey?" And then within seconds, just as the silence was broken, everything that ever meant anything faded back away into the general state of nothing that hung over the room that the vampire found himself sat cross-legged in the middle of.

"Are you okay?" The voice tried again, footsteps creaking with the floorboards as the door slammed shut and they moved across the room, stopping within centimetres of Mikey, who still hadn't thought to open his eyes, and perhaps he was even scared, and it was likely, but unlikely for him to ever admit it.

He was a fucking vampire, and vampires never got scared.

"Mikey, come on? Listen to me! Just look at me. Acknowledge my presence in one way or another at the very least!" They exclaimed, their tone of voice raising and lowering like an untrustworthy rollercoaster as Mikey continued to be stubborn in his refusal of acknowledgement, and eventually, they just sat down with him.

And, almost in result, the whole room began to shake - almost a paranormal kind of shaking, and in a town like this, it really wasn't something to be overlooked, but thankfully, it was over within ten seconds, and nothing but a picture framed on the opposite wall fell and broke.

But of course, it was only then, and only in the aftermath that Mikey finally came to open his eyes, not even glancing for a moment at who had sat beside him, instead, his eyes focusing upon the picture frame that now lay in pieces on the floor and trying not to think about how important the picture inside was - the picture of him and Ray.

Then, finally, Mikey turned to his side, to where someone had sat, and only to find nothing, and absolutely no one there, and he was once again, nothing but alone, but this time with the wonderful addition of his head spinning like crazy as he struggled to place an explanation to the voice he'd heard and the presence he'd felt, because this wasn't just a figment of his imagination - this wasn't just voices, he wasn't just depressed and his head wasn't just fucking him over, he knew this was real, because the door still hung slightly off the lack from where what, or whoever had come in hadn't quite shut it properly.

Perhaps Mikey should have been scared and perhaps Mikey should have even considered leaving, but he just continued to feel nothing but empty as his eyes couldn't but fixate upon the smashed photo frame and his thoughts just couldn't help focus upon who was in that photo, and just how he'd fucked up and just how Mikey had lost him.

It was his fault - he knew. He was over that by now and it was just a given that he was the one who'd fucked everything up beyond recognition, but it was just the fact that Ray had died hating him that he'd never be able to forgive himself for.

He couldn't help but wonder how different this would have been if this plan of Gerard's had succeeded and it was Pete's funeral they had attended, and whether or not the guilt of knowing he killed someone, purposefully, would have made this easier or harder at all. He'd still have Ray though, he'd still have his boyfriend, and maybe things would have been okay, but he knew from the fact that his head was still spinning and if he was human he'd probably would have passed out by this point, that nothing, absolutely fucking nothing could ever be okay again, and really, Mikey was never any good at pretending.

Yet, as the 'voices in his head' had just proven, he seemed to be absolutely excelling when it came to imagining things.

-

And it was just another fuck up that led Frank Iero to find himself in none other than Bert McCracken's presence upon a rather unfortunate Wednesday.

He didn't particularly mind the elder's company, and they were decent friends, but ever since the incident with Ray, Frank had fallen into the rather unfortunate habit of coming to associate Bert's presence with nothing but the stomach churning feeling of bad news.

They sat in silence for the most part: at the park, under the trees and trying their best not to look overly suspicious or particularly creepy as their eyes fell over the various children playing across the field. It wasn't a particularly uncomfortable silence, yet it wasn't something that Frank would attach the word 'pleasant' too, either, it was just silence, and this was just a day wasted with someone he could tolerate for certain periods of time.

The silence wasn't unexpected either: Bert couldn't quite help the guilt of Ray's death at times, and Frank's head was on fire as his thoughts raced back and forth between Gerard and Alex and the multitude of fucks up in between, because that misplaced 'I love you' was nothing more than a time bomb, a hand grenade that he'd thrown, but not just at Gerard, at himself too.

And perhaps the silence between him and his perhaps not boyfriend anymore, was actually just nothing more than his own doing, and perhaps this consequence was not unlikely to be well deserved. And perhaps that was just that, and perhaps Frank should have just moved on and talked to Bert about something else - anything, really, and perhaps, just perhaps it would have been okay, but Frank was fucked up and more in love than he should ever be and this was his ultimate downfall.

"What actually happened with you and Gerard? I know things kind of fucked up and he yelled at you a bit and then you called him an asshole or something and then more screaming and then running and then hiding in Bob's living room in four blankets as he rolled his eyes and Pete looked kind of puzzled but just a little too scared of Bob to actually ask any questions - I know that, but what actually happened?"

"I told him that I loved him." Frank found himself answering the question with an unnerving lack of hesitance: he reckoned it was just a side effect of the apathic bubble he'd buried himself in as he came to re-evaluate his whole existence up until this point and only in honour of one fucking asshole that couldn't bring himself to say 'I love you' back.

But Gerard wasn't just some asshole, and that was the biggest problem that Frank Iero reckoned he'd ever face, because he genuinely cared about Gerard so fucking much that it wouldn't at all be unlikely if that itself had the power to destroy his life. Of course, the vampires had good aspects too, and in their multitude - excellent sex being number one, but by no means the only one.

"Yeah, Gerard's not really an emotions kind of person, but then again, technically, Gerard's not really a person either, is he? He's a vampire, and that sounds kind of harsh to say that he's not a person, but he's-"

"Bert, just how stoned are you right now?" Frank's eyes widened as he turned his gaze in Bert's direction: thinking it best just to clarify, because with Bert, there was really no telling.

"Only a little." Bert shrugged it off, before breaking into a smile, leaving Frank to roll his eyes and re-evaluate his life for the second time as he came to reconsider calling Alex and only essentially fucking his life up further, but Frank couldn't deny the fact that Alex was absolutely certain about what to do in absolutely every situation and by Bert's piss poor standards of advice, perhaps he needed that now, or perhaps just a cigarette.

Yeah, maybe just a cigarette.

And within seconds, Bert was handing him one and a lighter, and Frank was perfectly happy to drown his problems in excessive and almost copious amounts of nicotine as he tried his best not to think too long about the ever-looming and ever-growing risks of lung cancer and various other life threatening ailments that this fucking smoke could give him, and really, Frank wondered why he bothered just for a few minutes of relief.

But that was just addiction - it was bad for him, but he needed it.

And it was at that moment that Frank began to consider if he was addicted to Gerard, of course, at first, the idea was nothing but preposterous, but it soon cling to him and within minutes his head was spinning and he was re-evaluating his existence for the third time, and perhaps that was just that, and he left that train of thought satisfied that his life would comprise of nothing more than praying that Bert would feel no need to break the silence again, well at least for the next ten minutes.

Because Frank found himself getting rather attached to the idea of finishing the cigarette, muttering something irrelevant that could form an excuse to Bert, and making his way off to call Alex. It was of course a bad idea, but he reckoned his life was nothing more than a string of bad ideas tied together: this town, Gerard, Ray, everything, and yet he still survived, at least up until now.

So surely, one phone call with an old 'friend' couldn't quite be that bad.

-

Pete was really rather lucky in the fact that Bob Bryar had continued to neglect the matter of kicking the eighteen year old out of his house, and perhaps, Pete would even go as far as to say that Bob was actually growing to like him, as absurd as it may sound.

Of course though, one of the absolute joys that came with living with Bob Bryar was the multitude of idiots that came to his door on a regular basis, all somehow convinced that they were being personal affected by some kind of supernatural being and that they needed Bob's personal help within the next ten minutes or they were absolutely going to die.

Okay, that had actually been true once or twice, but otherwise it turned out that they just had a leaky roof or a particularly milky bathtub or something, but this time, after the doorbell rang and Bob returned with none other than Mikey Way, Pete knew that this was something else entirely.

"Does he have to be here?" Mikey took one glance in Pete's direction and instantly decided that there was no way in hell that his conscience would be able to take this, because that fucking idiot sat in the corner of the sofa with a shit eating grin upon his face could have very easily been dead if things hadn't fucked up quite so spectacularly as they had.

"It's my house too!" Pete exclaimed, of course taking it upon himself to be personally offended by Mikey's rather reasonable request, and really, by the expression upon Bob's face, he made it rather obvious that he was most certainly not in the mood to deal with some sort of 'domestic' that could very easily occur here

"Technically..." Bob sighed out, trailing off as he soon came to the conclusion that this wasn't worth it and that in general, arguing with Pete Wentz was nothing other than a lost cause. "Fucking whatever, Mikey you can deal with it if you're that bothered."

Mikey glanced between Bob and Pete for a few seconds before sighing and shrugging, making his way over to the sofa and sitting as far away from Pete as he could, leaving Bob to take the armchair opposite them, and for Pete to try his best not to make it overly obvious that he was doing absolutely nothing more than listening in on their conversation - he was curious, whatever.

"Bob, I've ever gone mad or there's something seriously fucked up going on here, okay?" Mikey decided that there was really no better place to start than that; there was no easy way to tell anyone that you were hearing voices and having trouble believing that they were just that.

Perhaps they were designed to seem real, to trick and to fool you, but really, Mikey just couldn't shake the feeling that it was just so much more than in his head. After all, the last thing he needed now was to go crazy, but with the guilt weighing down on him, he was sorry to say that it wasn’t exactly unlikely right now.

"Well, I'm going to be optimistic here and go for the fact that something's fucking with you, so, go on then, spill." Bob exhaled loudly as he spoke, stealing a glance in Pete's direction, and from the absolutely blatant stare in Mikey's direction that he received in response, he kind of really wished he hadn't even bothered.

"I went to the record store earlier, and I know I shouldn't, I mean, mourning, and stuff, but I just can't stop myself from walking in and it's fucked up, but whatever - I ended up spending far too much time in there: just sitting in silence and thinking and I was pretty sure I closed my eyes at one point or whatever, but like I think someone came in, like they spoke to me and I heard and felt that they sat down beside me, and they seemed to know who I was and were friendly enough so I wasn't like fucking panicking or anything, but I was still worlds away with my eyes closed, and they asked me to just acknowledge their existence and then the whole room started to shake and a picture of me and Ray fell off the wall and smashed and that was when I opened my eyes, and I saw that there was no one there with me and there never had been, but I was like so fucking sure I hadn't imagined it, I mean, it was just so real, I couldn't have imagined that-"

"Mikey, calm down..." Bob sighed out, biting his lip, his gaze distant as he found himself considering a possibility that he really didn't want to, but there was nothing but blatant evidence leading to the truth that Mikey had just relayed to him. "I don't think you're crazy, but fuck, if I'm right then this isn't going to be easy at all."

"What is it? Bob, just fucking tell me!" Mikey raised his voice and regretted it instantly, turning away momentarily to catch Pete's gaze and unexpected, but somehow needed smile, and fuck, he was so guilty and just so fucking sorry for what he could have done to Pete, who just didn't deserve to be a part of this mess at all: he was too young, and really, he should never have come here at all. He was stupid, of course, but unintelligence didn't warrant his murder by any degree.

"Mikey, I... I... don't even know how, but that's a... if I'm right, if you're right then that's a ghost you've seen - well not seen, but heard..." Bob paused, eyes fixating elsewhere as he double-checked the facts and triple checked just again because this was not something that he ever wanted to deal with. "I'm so sorry, Mikey. It's just obvious, that place, haunted, and there's no question as to who it would be I guess, I just..." Bob trailed off, meeting Mikey's eyes. "I'm supposed to get rid of him, Mikey, you k-"

"Fuck off, Bob, don't you fucking dare!" And with that, Mikey got up and stormed out, slamming the door behind him as he made a beeline back to the record store and this fucking ghost of a boyfriend of his.

-


	21. I Doubt You're Planning On Eating Your Dead Boyfriend

Cigarettes.

Fucking cigarettes was all he had left, and it wasn't enough: it wasn't never enough, but he was used to it, he reckoned so, anyway, but Gerard Way was nothing more than a liar at best, and himself was most certainly no exception.

He never made exceptions for anybody: especially not Frank Iero.

But he did. Past tense.

Past fucking tense and that was the way it was going to stay, and the cold dusk winter air was nothing but a reminder of that. It was fucking raining too - of course, it was fucking raining.

And in fact it seemed an awful lot like God had woken up on the sadistic side of the bed today, but then again, Gerard couldn't exactly talk: that was the only side he had.

The other was empty and yet full at the same time: vacant but with no vacancy, and only due to the fact that he found himself far too stubborn to simply accept the fact that such a vacancy had already been filled, and of course, by a certain Frank Iero who'd spoke the three fucking words that had ruined everything.

Because Gerard Way was doing absolutely fine, and this whole fuck thing was absolutely fucking fine, until Frank said those three little words and Gerard had to force away the urge to say them back.

He was heartless, he was cruel, he was a fucking vampire, and really, he was anything and everything but a romantic, and he'd known that forever and ever, and yet Frank fucking Iero had to come and fuck the whole world up.

Gerard thought he was in control here - not just of Frank, but of himself and his emotions too, but it had become rather evident recently that everything was nothing more than under Frank's control, because without the nineteen year old with a too big smile and too much sarcasm, Gerard would have never even found those three deadly words crossing his head, let alone begging at his lips: begging at escape and the chance of verbalisation.

But he couldn't.

Even if he really wanted to, he never could.

It'd destroy everything he ever had, everything that Frank Iero had destroyed already, and it seemed he was already in low supply of things he could hold onto that the nineteen year old hadn't already taken from him.

His sanity, for starters.

Frank was never supposed to be important; he was just supposed to be cute and easy to manipulate, and well, fuck. He was just a fuck, and he was just an obedient little whore who got entirely too attached, and it just seemed that only now had it become apparent that such levels of attachment were now nothing but mutual.

And maybe he should have just said 'I love you' back and said to hell with it: his whole existence brought a rather ironically literal meaning to 'living hell' and therefore, surely things couldn't get any worse, but things could, and things loved to play on such a cliché, because they always did, and he knew that like hell itself by now.

Gerard pulled his attention away from his thoughts and over onto the horizon and the dark fog that lay over it: suffocation, almost, but separation, more like. Up on this hill, up away amidst the gravestones and things that lay beneath them was the little pocket of hell in which Gerard Way belonged: underneath the mausoleum and in the caverns below, yet he couldn't help but find the truth to be in the fact that his heart was somewhere in the village below: a house, large and with far too many rooms for the three occupants, but with only one room that at all mattered - Frank's.

But of course, he didn't have a heart: he was a vampire and it was just a stone cold, empty chest, and this all meant nothing, but everything at the same time - he was just empty on the inside. A whole lot of shrivelled up, dead nothing: a walking corpse, to be unpleasant about it.

But at the very least, he could smoke as many damn cigarettes as he wanted to and live, forever, without fear of suffering any consequences.

But what he couldn't do was fall in love with Frank Iero, because like that, he couldn't, and wouldn't live forever. Immortality meant everything, and perhaps beside the sodden packet of cigarettes, it was all he had left.

Because with a death, broken, shrivelled and never-beating, never-loving heart like his, there was a certain consequence to promising something you couldn't give: love. Love from an empty heart was nothing, and yet consequence rose to fix the dilemma and the challenge, in the form of a beating heart, and even a 'cure'.

Some went that route, but not many: it hurt, and it was like birth and death entwined, it was every ailment ever suffered and every fucking injury all at once: it all backfired, but it was death and birth entwined in the 'I love you too'.

There's a reason you shouldn't make promises that you can't keep, and especially of such a heartfelt nature, because although Gerard found himself tempted, it just wasn't a sacrifice he was prepared to make: the sacrifice of loving some and saying it and meaning it was all it took to tear this comfortable, cushioned state of immortality apart.

Because there was nothing quite so human, so pure and so mortal, than the promise that came with loving someone and whole-heartedly meaning it, and although Frank was special and Frank meant so much more than a rainy evening and a packet of sodden cigarettes that took too long and too much of Gerard's patience for him to light, his immortality was not something that he was prepared to promise away to Frank Iero, and especially not upon three fucking little words.

Even Mikey, even Mikey hadn't promised that to Ray, and fuck, there was no way around just how strongly they felt for one another, even if Mikey had in the end, been the one to kill him, but if Mikey didn't waste it all away on the person he cared the most for, then there was no way in hell that Gerard Way was going to let those three little deadly words, especially on someone like Frank Iero.

But, he knew he'd been so close, and his head had been spinning like hell, and now he'd almost ran out of cigarettes and he had no stupidly cute nineteen year to fuck away all his problems with.

Maybe he just needed to distract himself with someone else: someone he could never love, but someone he could fuck like it was all he had left.

Because Gerard had been awfully careless, and now, he was doing nothing but paying the price for such reckless behaviour.

-

Frank Iero was an idiot, and an idiot that fell all too easily for the worst fucking people in the whole world, and an idiot that couldn't even keep promises to himself as he found himself calling Alex again, and again, and again.

Because he was needy.

Gerard was fucking right: he was needy.

He was a needy little faggot who needed some asshole to fuck him and call him pretty, and now he'd fucked that all up with Gerard, and of nothing other than his own accord, with no hope for either apology or acceptance, he found himself sat on his bed all night and dialling the same number every single time.

But of course, it wasn't the same without Alex actually being there with him, and perhaps that was exactly what had him jaded enough to actually consider this anything more than the worst idea he'd ever had.

At the very least, Gerard actually cared for him: sometimes, anyway, Frank wouldn't push it. Gerard was an apathetic vampire and there was just no fucking way around that fact, but there were moments, even if they were brief and in abundance, there were moments when Gerard seemed like far less of an asshole than he made himself out to be, but of course, Frank had fucked that all up now.

And he was left with nothing but ringtones and dial tones and an empty bedroom as a reminder of that.

Alex was some form of clarity, though, at the very least, and just the sound of his voice filled up that needy part inside him and made him okay again.

Okay was the very best he was going to get right now and there was simply no other way of looking at it.

It was just rather bleak and kind of empty, and Alex's familiar, asshole voice was the only thing that made that empty and that nothing, into the something he needed.

"Alex?" His voice broke the silence dial tones faded away into: anxious - nervous, yet full of anticipation.

"Frankie!" He seemed to exclaim down the phoneline: drunk, Frank could tell, but it didn't matter unless he made it matter, and he was going to so this would all be absolutely fucking fine.

He promised himself, because he had absolutely fucking nothing else left.

"I've missed you." Frank found himself admitting as his mind lost control of his tongue and his heart spoke without fear or even thought of consequences. "I've really fucking missed you and I can't help myself from thinking about you and calling you. I'm lonely, Alex. Too fucking lonely."

Alex chuckled a little: distorted and crackled down the phoneline. "I've missed you forever, Frankie, but you never fucking missed me since now and that fucking hurts, so are you ever going to repay me? Are you going to stitch that wound or are you just going to leave it to bleed?"

"I-I-I... I don't know how to fix it. I miss you, Alex, I really do." Frank stumbled over his words as he mind struggled to catch up with his heart and the multitude of bombshells it had taken the liberty of dropping, but it was far too late: they were at detonating point already.

"Prove it - fucking prove it. Tell that boyfriend of yours that you're done: don't just be a coward about it and actually make him sorry and make this mean something." Alex was wrong and right at the same time and Frank was just jaded enough to take his word as gospel, almost as if Alex was a reincarnation of Christ, and in fact, nothing short of the antichrist himself.

"I can't speak to him: he hates me, and I fucked up, surely he should be the one to dump me, and fuck, Alex, I can't do this - I just need you-" Frank choked up, forcing himself away from tears and the new kind of hell they'd bring.

"You don't need me." Alex found himself fucking laughing at that, and really, Frank hadn't a single as to how he was supposed to even fathom reacting. "You're the world's biggest fucking slut - you just need someone to fuck you hard and kiss you afterwards. And since you fucked that all up with him, you've come crawling back to me, and really, I saw this coming long ago."

"No, Alex- it's, it's- n-not like that." And if Frank said he was crying at this point, then really, he'd be nothing more than a filthy fucking liar.

"Of course it is, Iero." And again, Alex could do nothing but laughter, even as he heard the sobs down the phoneline, and really, it was no mystery as to what or who had caused them. "But I don't mind, you're my best friend and my favourite whore - that's forever. But, I won't let you just come crawling back to me without a way of proving it, so fucking sort shit out with this asshole who's been fucking you the past few months."

"He's not as good as you." Frank muttered out promises and words that meant nothing: a mess that served as nothing more than a waste of space and a needy beggar's plead.

"I know - I don't need someone like you to tell me that." Alex scoffed, and Frank just thought it best not to ask just what he meant by that, because if he knew anything, it was that looking into things and fucking caring wasn't at all worthwhile.

He'd lost everything, and at this point, Alex was the only person he had left: the only comforting voice, and for that, for him, Frank would do anything and everything.

"Okay. I'll tell him."

-

Mikey sat in the record store, once again, but after the certain discovery and idea that Bob had planted in his mind, he really hadn't left the place: his mind now hard-wired into the belief that Ray Toro and whatever could possibly be left of him was far, far more important than himself, and this mess of a life he had here.

But, it was ridiculous in the fact that now Mikey had even the slightest clue as to what was going on, Ray seemed adamant upon denying all evidence of his existence - either that or he'd been wrong and Mikey was actually going crazy.

And if he wasn't crazy already, he most certainly would be by the end of this, by the time he actually made it out of the record store, even if it was only in his own coffin.

Of course due to this immortality bullshit he was stuck with, that may as well take a while: Ray could hide himself forever, but Mikey could wait out forever too.

Time was irrelevant when his eyes fixated upon the smashed picture frame for hours: he hadn't allowed anyone to clean up the only mess that at all alluded to Ray Toro's continued existence - spectral or not, it didn't matter to Mikey anymore.

Everything was just a case of the after effects of the storm that was Ray Toro, Mikey being the debris left behind, and the debris that people had tried to help clear, but Mikey was just as stubborn as Ray was, and continued to sit in the abandoned and almost eerie record store for days on end.

Perhaps people had even just given up all hope at this point, perhaps even deemed him insane, and perhaps, Mikey didn't even care. Gerard hadn't even dropped by to laugh at him, which of course only worked to highlight the fact that something was most certainly not okay with his older brother, but Mikey's continued ignorance towards that fact did nothing but highlight the fact that maybe he just didn't care.

If Gerard was allowed to be an apathetic bitchy asshole without question, then it was definitely Mikey's time to shine as the cold-hearted vampire he really was.

Because this was the first time in his whole life, well, death, to be technical about it, but whatever, this was the first time that Mikey had actually felt dead, cold, and fucking empty inside.

Alone.

And as the record store remained abandoned, that was just how he'd stay.

And perhaps he was entirely too content with the way things were.

"Mikey?" He jolted out his thoughts within milliseconds: gaze darting around the room in hopes for any sign of Ray - perhaps, finally, he'd accepted Mikey's apology and shown himself to the vampire sat in his record store for days on end. Either that or he was just so damn tired of this that he was going to fucking kick him out - dead or not.

But as Mikey's eyes met the brown ones of none other than Pete fucking Wentz, his non-existent, stone-cold heart sunk the depth of a thousand oceans.

And really, that could not have been doing wonders for Pete's self-esteem.

"Are you okay in here? I mean, like, Bert said that you've been in here for days? Is that true?" Pete exclaimed, playing utterly naive when it came to over-exaggerated, antisocial body language on Mikey's part, and sitting down beside the vampire, and Mikey tried entirely too hard not to think about how he was pretty much certain that Ray had sat in that exact spot only a few days ago.

"I guess." Mikey sighed out, swallowing every insult he wanted to hurl at the eighteen year old boy, who had really, just got himself caught up in a mess that he didn't deserve.

Mikey tried to think about how Pete didn't even know that Mikey had intended to kill him and had indeed come awfully close, and failed miserably, because, sure, Pete was annoying as fuck, but there was no question about the fact that he just didn't deserve this.

Nobody deserved this, but in a town such as this, it really didn't seem that mortality and ethics came into play all that much.

"That's really not healthy." Pete told Mikey what had already knew, and the vampire found himself forcing back a multitude of snide comments, that perhaps, really, maybe he just shouldn't have made an effort with.

"Neither is cake and people still fucking eat it." Mikey sighed out, loosing his patience as he lost the silence and company of his own thoughts, or perhaps, really, just the bubble of privacy that his own insanity brought.

"Yes, but I really doubt that you're planning on eating your dead boyfriend." Pete almost fucking smiled to himself at that, and Mikey was within fucking millimetres of slapping him right across the face, despite the fact that he didn't deserve it, and mainly because Pete was really, really fucking annoying. "But you are a fucking vampire so-"

"Fucking shut up, will you?" Needless to say, Mikey finally lost it, and surprisingly, Pete shut up for a good few minutes after that, but of course there was still no fucking hope in the chance that he might actually leave Mikey alone to his own thoughts and the insanity they brought.

"You could also eat his ass." And that was what six minutes of silence in Pete Wentz's head brought to the subject.

Mikey just fucking glared. "Just cut it - he's fucking dead." He doubted his words would have any effect at all, as he really doubted that 'respect' was a word in Pete Wentz's vocabulary.

"Technically, so are you." Pete didn't fucking stop, but he didn't fucking smile this time, so maybe, just maybe, that was an improvement, even if only a tiny one. "So technically, I'm the only alive person in this room, like with you and Ray-"

"What?" Mikey suddenly became entirely too interested in Pete Wentz and the insanity strung from his lips.

"Have you not noticed? The mirror - look, he's there, he's behind us right now... watching."

And for once, even if it was only just once, Pete was right.

-


	22. The Elusive Milky Bathtub

Really, Frank should have thought this through before just following Alex's every wish and whim, but really, there were a lot of things that Frank Iero should have done but didn't, and thinking this through was practically nothing in comparison.

For starters, he shouldn't have blurted out those three little words and basically fucked this all up in the first place, and in like seventh grade he should have tried harder on that maths test, but both were now in the past, and believe it or not, just as irrelevant as each other.

But there was just nothing that Frank Iero could tell himself to really make anything involving Gerard Way irrelevant at all: the vampire meant far too much to him and those three words had made that all too clear, and the silence that followed his words made the fact that those feelings were mutual all too obvious.

It was fucked: they were fucked, and perhaps that was just that, and perhaps Frank would have even let this go if it wasn’t for Alex and every single little fucking demand that Frank gave into too easily.

Frank wouldn't say that he was a pushover, but he was nothing but that, and this made it all too clear, and impossible to ignore, but the reality of the fact that Frank was actually confronting Gerard about this, at least ensured that the nineteen year old wasn't a coward.

But what did that really mean?

In a town like this?

In a life such as his?

It meant nothing and maybe that was okay, and maybe it wasn't.

Frank needed people to tell him what was okay and what wasn't these days: people like Alex, people like Gerard, people who used to mean so much but were supposed to mean nothing now, but didn't, because nothing quite ever seemed to work as planned.

And perhaps that was just the reality of life, and perhaps the reality of climbing over the metal gates of the graveyard at dusk was nothing more than the world's stupidest decision, but perhaps, just perhaps, for Frank at the very least, it was a necessary one.

Because, Gerard was important and there was absolutely no way around that: Gerard fucking mattered to Frank, and Frank fucking mattered to Gerard, but it was made evident that perhaps vampires weren't exactly the best with emotion.

And it was also made evident that vampires weren't exactly the best with staying away from cute human boys, as Frank's gaze met another: bright in the dark - none other than Gerard Way, leaned up against the mausoleum, and smirking like a motherfucker, because maybe, just maybe, he knew things would work out in the end.

Or maybe, he didn't, and maybe, just like poor, lost Frank Iero, he was just relying on hope and praying to the God that hated him that someday this would all work out okay.

And at first, it was all staring, and gaping mouths as Frank forced himself to adjust to the fact that this was actually Gerard over there and that he was in fact not hallucinating his ex-boyfriend, he wasn't Mikey, after all.

But soon, things escalated, and the silence snapped in two, and of course, with nothing other than a snide comment from Gerard, who just hated to admit that he missed the nineteen year old so much more than he could ever possibly admit to himself, or especially not to Frank, and especially not aloud, and especially not in the form of those fucking three little words that had put him in this situation in the first place.

"You're not supposed to be up here, you know. If anyone else had found you here, you'd be fucked, Iero, you'd be absolutely fucking fucked." Gerard sighed out, forcing back the urge to just grab the nineteen year old and fucking make out with him - right then and right there.

And needless to say, at this point, Frank Iero wasn't just anyone to Gerard Way.

"But it's you that found me and it's you I came to see." Frank sighed out, avoiding Gerard's gaze, knowing all too well that he couldn't resist it as he struggled to remember just what he was here for: what Alex had told him to say, and what he had to do.

"I'm sorry, Frank, but things are fucked up. I want to say it back and I want to make this up to you, but I can't: I physically fucking can't. It's a fucked up vampire thing okay, and I want to make this work again, because you're important, Frank, you really are, but I just fucking can't say those words." Gerard sighed out, preparing himself for the worst possible response, as of course, he expected nothing less, and perhaps, he was right to expect just that.

"It's fine, Gerard." Frank sighed out, stepping towards the vampire, and biting down on his bottom lip as he very quickly came to realise that there wasn't a fucking chance in hell that like this, with such an apology that he could bring himself to do what he had to, to say what he had to.

This was all fucked, and really there was absolutely no other way to put it.

"It's fine, but I just can't-" Frank choked out, his throat seizing up as he soon found it impossible to squeeze his words out.

"Frank, fucking what?" Gerard's tune soon changed, stepping close to the nineteen year: fucking angry and it was beyond evident. "It's that fucking Alex, isn't it? Oh for fuck's sake, Frank, I can fucking tell - don't fucking lie to me: what the fuck's going on?"

"I'm sorry, I fucked up, I just I thought you hated me, I just-" Frank's words were cut off as Gerard slammed him against the mausoleum wall, pinning his wrists above his head, and oh fuck.

"I fucking hate the idea of my little slut even flirting with someone else, you're fucking mine, you know that, Frankie? And I fucking I care about you, okay? Is that okay? Are we okay, Frankie? Am I right in thinking that this fucking Alex is worth absolutely nothing to you and that I'll never even hear his name mentioned again? Am I right, Frankie?"

Silence, and quivering lips and millions of answers waiting at Frank's lips: all inadequate.

And it took three words to ruin them, and only two to fix it.

"Yes master."

-

Most of the time, Pete just couldn't help himself for feeling the way he did about Mikey, and maybe, just maybe, he'd even manage to tell himself that the way he felt was okay, but there was the odd occasion in which the eighteen year old found himself sat in his bedroom: Bob's spare room, completely alone and completely empty inside.

Mikey didn't want him, and that was just nothing short of blatantly obvious, but it still was absolutely nowhere near okay.

Pete was nowhere near okay.

And this room fucking stunk half the time, and there were like seven thousand boxes of random shitty junk in the corner that Pete’s curiosity took the better of him with, because although it was Bob's shit and Bob wouldn't particularly take a liking to him snooping around here, he just needed something, anything to take his mind off Mikey fucking Way.

And maybe Pete was obsessed, but maybe, he was just absolutely nowhere near admitting that to himself, and perhaps he was just better hiding away in Bob Bryar's spare bedroom and contemplating life and the universe itself as his rummaged through bags full of once haunted plates and the like - perhaps he'd even find the elusive milky bathtub somewhere - probably not in the tiny boxes, but who knows? Maybe, it was just a really tiny bathtub.

Bathtubs can come in all shapes and sizes, of course, no hate to bathtubs, and milk, and well, come on here, Ryan Ross.

Pete, like just about everyone, reckoned perhaps that the elusive milky bathtub didn't quite deserve all the attention it got, but whatever, it wasn't fucking elusive for nothing, and this fucking bathtub was going to be vital to the plot whether Pete liked it or not.

Pete sighed out, pushing the boxes away and pulling out his cellphone, and debating just how unlikely it was for Mikey to ever answer his phone: the guy never fucking left the record store, and seriously, it was starting to concern Pete: sure, Pete had seen a momentary glimpse of Ray in the mirror, but he was tired as fuck and it really would not have been at all unlikely if he'd just imagined it, but now Mikey was deadset upon seeing the 'ghost' of his dead boyfriend.

And fuck, Pete couldn't help but feel sorry for the guy, because there wasn't a chance in hell that Mikey Way was ever going to be okay again, and perhaps, Pete just had far too much trouble accepting that there was absolutely nothing that eh could ever do about that, ever.

He cared too much, and it was caring that always fucked it all up in the end - detachment was the key to survival, but maybe, Pete didn’t even want to survive, just maybe, the eighteen year old was so severely lovestruck that all he really wanted was for Mikey Way to be okay again, but that was really nothing more than a lost cause.

But Pete called nonetheless, because maybe, just like Mikey, he wouldn't give up on the person he cared about the most, and this was fucked up beyond belief, but that was just made it feel right in this fucking town and for these fucking people, or well, in Mikey's case, vampire, and in Ray's case (maybe), ghost.

Ray's mortality or the lack of it, or even existence at this point was largely nothing more than speculation.

And the continuity of the dial tones and lack of Mikey's voice on the end was, of course, nothing more than accepted by Pete at this point.

Everyone had kind of just given up and left Mikey alone in the store at this point, but Pete wasn't going to fucking give up - after all, it was the simple acting of caring that could destroy the whole world.

"Pete, fuck, I need- I need fucking help, come over- I'm at the store- I..."

Mikey's voice left the eighteen year old speechless and unable to respond for entirely too long and judging by the nature of Mikey's words, it wasn't at all convenient to the situation, but soon enough, Pete found himself whirring back into life.

"Mikey? Oh my god? What's wrong? I.. what's wrong?" He choked out, utterly lost and utterly fucking useless, but still getting up from the bed and grabbing a jacket, because there was absolutely nothing stopping him from going over sorting this out - not even the safety and cowardice that the four walls of Bob Bryar's spare room nurtured.

"You know how you said you saw him in the mirror? The mirror's cracking on its own and I can't fucking move- Look, just get Bob too, but fucking quickly, okay?" And as Mikey's voice began to crack to, it was made evident that his words were really nothing short of the truth.

"What do you mean you can't move?" Pete exclaimed, of course, still fucking stuck here asking the most menial questions despite the fact that Mikey was very clearly in fucking danger, and for once in his lifetime, needed Pete's help, but of course, this was nothing more than cowardice at its absolute finest.

"What the fuck does it matter? For fuck's sake, Pete, I just can't fucking move and the whole fucking room is breaking and cracking now, just fucking get Bob or I'm going to fucking die, Pete, come on, for fuck's sake. Try not being useless for once."

"Try not being an asshole for once." And just like that, Pete ended the call and stood there in a reflective silence for far too long, because it was far too easy to just ignore this and leave Mikey to what some might argue that he deserved, but Pete couldn't handle the guilt and Pete couldn't handle the knowledge that he had the ability to perhaps make Mikey like him, just for one fucking moment as he led Bob to save him.

But whatever, he had to try, and maybe, Mikey Way wasn't everything after all, but he most certainly did not deserve to die, especially when Pete could prevent it: Pete would never do that to Mikey, however, unbeknownst to the eighteen year old, that promise wasn't mutual at all.

-

Mikey was alone, and he knew that no one was coming to save him: reality was just tearing itself apart as Ray's image faded into the mirror, and maybe, just to see Ray, he felt like that was justifiable, because the vampire wanted to just see, let alone talk to and fucking apologise to his boyfriend one last time, even if it killed him.

Immortality got boring anyway.

Mikey wasn't like Gerard and this was the final confirmation.

Reality soon crumbled away into static and light and noises and then nothing, and nothing was okay with Mikey Way, the boy who'd once had everything, and maybe even once actually been alive: they'd all been alive some day long ago, but Gerard had made it rather evident that any humanity within him was long lost and forgotten, but Mikey, Mikey however could still remember the day.

He was fourteen and Gerard was seventeen and it was good hundred or so years ago, but it was still always fresh upon the vampire's mind. Perhaps the difference between them was the difference then and the difference in that Gerard knew and Mikey really didn't.

And that Gerard was a fucking idiot and Mikey was nothing more than dragged into this mess.

But still, Mikey would never even go as far as to say that it was Gerard's fault, sure there was nothing that anyone could say to change the fact that it was Gerard's doing, but whether he was actually to blame resided in nothing more than pure controversy for the past hundred or so years.

Mikey had been sick, Mikey was about to die, and really, Mikey would have, and he really wouldn't have minded: he was ready, he was fucking ready to say goodbye, but Gerard made it rather evident that he wasn't ready to say goodbye to his own brother: Mikey was okay and accepting, but Gerard did not think it was alright.

Gerard was always that child: he was the older, fucked up one and second best to his younger brother and well fucking aware of it, and yet still he could never quite bring himself to even so much as dislike Mikey, because it just wasn't his fault.

Gerard fucking loathed his parents though, and perhaps that had just what had brought him to do what he did.

After he received the news regarding the fatality of Mikey's illness, he'd become distant: more distant than he was already, but everyone was far too caught up with Mikey to even notice - that's how it had always been with Gerard, but at the very least, this time, he could be thankful of it.

He'd refuse to leave his room, especially in the day, and stay up all night, going out with a lack of an explanation and remained aloof and generally more secretive and anti-social than usual, only frequenting visits to his brother, and these visits were visits he made alone, and as it became clear that Mikey only had a few days left to live, it was really when the Way family were left in nothing but mystery and mourning as when they awoke one morning, they didn't find their youngest son dead.

They just didn't find him at all, and Gerard was long gone with him. The two having left the big manor house with far too many bedrooms and space for crucifixes in the doors and fled to the graveyard and the mausoleum up on the hill never to be seen again, at least not within the next few decades.

Mikey had hated Gerard at first as he spent far too many years down in the caverns below the mausoleum coming to terms with who he was now and just who his brother had forced him into: the immortality, the blood lust, because as much as Gerard hated to admit it, Mikey had indeed died in the end, as he was supposed to, expect it wasn't illness that had killed him, but his own brother.

And soon the light faded into darkness and back to the room once more, and Mikey, unsure if he was hallucinating at this point, watched as the figure resembling his dead ex-boyfriend made his way to the front of the figure, and for the first time, what was left of Ray Toro came to actually acknowledge just what was left of Mikey Way.

Because a huge part of Mikey had died with Ray, and that huge part held itself in the secret and the spell, or curse of the three words he'd uttered to the corpse he held in his arms sobbing on that day in the record store where guilt had come to reap it's rewards in the form of poisoned wine intended for someone else entirely.

And Mikey had wasted days here, because he didn't say that 'I love you' for nothing.

And despite how much of a bad decision it was, Mikey still couldn't quite bring himself to even consider regretting it.

Regret was far too much of a human emotion, and despite this all, Mikey Way still wasn't human: he could never be human again, he could never quite cure himself completely. He could just die now, and somehow, that thought wasn't as nearly as comforting or romantic as it had been made out to be.

It was then that Ray in the mirror, who perhaps wasn't real Ray at all, and may even be absolutely nothing more than a mere hallucination, spoke.

Four words this time, and four words that made everything worth it: four words that fixed the three words, that made the fact that now Ray was dead and Mikey was not barely even matter at all.

"I love you too."

And then, the perfect moment was ruined entirely with the slam of the door: Bob and Pete, and reality seemed to catch up at that point, Mikey's bubble of perfect reality fading away as the world around him came back into focus and the building continued to shake and fall down around him.

And that was when that Mikey realised that he was bleeding.

And that was when that Mikey realised that he was dying.

-


	23. No Homo Alarm Bells

Blood.

That was all it was blood: and all too much of it - corrupted blood, the blood of another and the blood that was foreign in his veins: stolen blood, but necessary. He was the starving poor who had to steal survive, or at least such a pretty metaphor made the whole situation look just a little bit better, in Pete's eyes at the very least.

Pete had treated Mikey's bedside in very much the same manner that Mikey had treated Ray's record store, and it was getting to the point where it was really starting to unnerve Bob: just because it was kind of creepy, and it wasn't like he actually missed the asshole roaming about his house and fucking up his very particular arrangement of coffee mugs.

There was of course the rather obvious and ever-looming possibility that Mikey would never wake up, and right Bob was just stuck with 'sleeping beauty' in his spare room, and his 'prince charming' never leaving Mikey's bedside. Bob even considered suggesting that kissing bullshit, but he wasn't quite that stupid.

This wasn't some weirdass fucking fairytale, this, unfortunately, was reality, and Mikey Way had been cursed in that record store (by who was of course unknown, because things could never really be that easy) and they were just lucky that the asshole hadn't died on the spot.

Bob never quite understood what the point was in being an immortal creature if you were just going to throw away your immortality over some guy was going to inevitably die at some point, because, come on, in a town like this, in a world like this - everyone fucking dies.

And it seemed that death was a fate that Mikey Way had barely avoided the grasps of, and still, Bob couldn't help but feel as if that would never matter to the vampire as long as Bob had the news to inform him of the fact that the record store had been destroyed with this fucking elusive curse.

At least then Mikey might actually have a chance of being able to get over Ray, but it seemed that there was no way in hell that Mikey was even going to consider looking at it that way: perhaps this was like Ray dying for the second time, or maybe just the first, as it became rather apparent that Mikey had never quite accepted his death in the first place.

But at the very least, with Pete 'looking after' Mikey, Bob had the time and privacy to sort out the other shitstorm this fucking curse had just so fucking wonderfully presented him with. And, of course, this was the kind of shitstorm that Mikey was either going to absolutely love or absolutely loathe, and Bob just reckoned that perhaps it would be better if he just didn't chance telling him, but of course that would never be anywhere near practical.

Because it wasn't as if Bob was exactly an expert when it came to burying bodies.

Ray's first funeral had determined that.

Of course, as to when Ray had suddenly needed a second funeral, no one had a clue, but Ray's body: faded, almost ghosting, flickering, not really there, had been found amongst the rubble, and like Mikey hadn't woken up, but the problem with ghosts was of course the ever so helpful fact that they just didn't have a pulse or the need to breathe.

Mikey was breathing at the very least.

Whereas, Bob was just stuck with a fucking ghost 'corpse' under the rug in his spare room as he just continued to pray that no one would find it and that the problem would somehow just sort itself out as well.

Needless to say, Bob wasn't exactly in his comfort zone here, but then again in a job like Bob's, the phrase 'comfort zone' was left as nothing but meaningless: everything was a fucking nightmare, this whole town was a fucking nightmare and half of the time Bob found himself strongly considering just packing up and moving onto somewhere down south and becoming an estate agent or something.

It'd be ridiculous and awfully dull, but he doubted he'd ever have to deal with any ghost corpses in fucking Texas.

-

Pete was probably going just a little insane after so long by Mikey's bedside like a concerned mother, or in place of the not quite so concerned brother that had failed to show his face throughout the entire duration of the ordeal. Frank had even taken just a few hours out of his busy 'Gerard fucking' schedule to go and show his concern, even if it was a little half-hearted and his compassion and caring towards Mikey was nowhere near as good as Pete's.

But then again, Pete was desperately and downright hopelessly in love with Mikey Way, and Frank, well you could say that Frank swung the other way, not in terms of sexuality of course - everyone was a fucking homosexual, like it was almost as if the only female in this whole fucking town was Frank's grandmother, and she wasn't exactly Angelina Jolie, but then again, Angelina Jolie kind of looked like a fish so maybe that was for the better.

And maybe, just maybe, Pete's efforts in favour of Mikey Way weren't at all hopeless, because maybe, curses did reverse, and maybe, just maybe, even though highly unlikely, there was hope for a happy ending - an ending happy in that Mikey hadn't died (yet) at the very least.

But Pete did practically have a heart attack as the vampire's eyes shot open, and it was pretty convenient that Pete soon recovered, because Mikey was hardly in a state to give Pete Wentz a heart transplant right now.

"You're alive!” Pete exclaimed, his eyes widening as he rushed to grab Mikey's hand, grinning down at the vampire, who could only roll his eyes at the over-excited asshole, but he really just couldn't help but deny that maybe he had missed Pete Wentz.

Not that Mikey had much noticed the passage of time throughout his state of unconsciousness: not quite a coma, more of a really extended, maybe permanent nap, but with far more problems caused. Vampires didn't really tend to have naps anyway.

"Technically, no. Technically, I'm still a fucking walking corpse, but metaphorically, if it makes you feel better, then, yes, Pete, I'm alive." Mikey sighed out, sitting up in the spare bed, soon noticing this to be Bob Bryar's house by the casual stake mounted upon the wall in a totally non-threatening manner.

"Bob! He's alive!" Pete chose to ignore Mikey's far more factual correction in favour of screaming throughout the house in an attempt to grab Bob's attention.

"Good. Fucking punch him in the face for me for being such a stressful pain in the ass!" Bob shouted back from the spare room, before continuing to freak the fuck out about just what lay underneath that fucking rug, like seriously, Ray was the person he called to help him out when he had these kind of problems, but he highly doubted that Ray could resurrect himself just to help Bob out a little here.

But who knows? Maybe Bob was wrong.

"I'd appreciate it if you didn't punch me in the face." Mikey added, smiling at Pete, who took the liberty of sitting opposite Mikey on the bed, forcing Mikey to sit cross legged with his back to the headboard. "But whatever, I'm sure you're pretty pissed off that I nearly died on you."

"What was that phone call even about, Mikey?" Pete sighed out, biting down on his bottom lip as he made a mental note not to stare at Mikey too obviously, or at least make some attempt to disguise just how fucking lovestruck he was. "I was so fucking scared, you know? Like vampires can't die, can they? But Bob said something-"

"It's some fucking lore bullshit about the heart that vampires don't have: stolen cold and rotten inside, hateful creatures and all that shit. Basically, I told Ray that I loved him, and that ruined my immortality, but that's okay - I don't want to live forever without him - I love him." Mikey confessed, leaving Pete to bottle his feelings inside and just pray that Bob would be the one to tell Mikey about just what had happened to the record store, and just what Pete presumed had happened to Bob.

"Why did you do that? You could have died!" Pete exclaimed, suddenly feeling far too fucking protective over Mikey for his own good, but he reckoned that he was far beyond the point of stopping himself now.

Mikey only shrugged it off, avoiding Pete's gaze. "It's my fault that Ray's dead. Do you know how he died?"

"No." Pete shook his head, opening his mouth once more to argue Mikey's blaming of himself, but the vampire continued before Pete even had a chance.

"Well, it's my fault - he was poisoned, and I was the one that placed the poison. Of course, I didn't mean to poison him... I mean to poison... someone else... but without my stupid fucking ideas about trying to fix things, then maybe he'd still be here, or maybe he wouldn't: fuck, I don't know. I just know that it's my fault, and that it hurts like hell. And that I feel guilty every single fucking day and you're the first person I've told and I didn't even mean to tell you, fuck, Pete it just happened, and I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sorry-"

Mikey's words were cut off as Pete moved to press Mikey's head into his chest, letting the vampire hold him as he sobbed: Pete cared far too much and it was fucking going to end up killing him in the end as well, but somehow, that just didn't seem to matter at all when Mikey Way was involved.

"It's not your fault, Mikey. That was just a mistake, look, I don't hate you and you shouldn't hate yourself, and I'm so sorry that he died, but you can't blame yourself forever." Pete pulled Mikey closer to his chest, savouring the moment in which Mikey was far too torn up to stop the contact between him and Pete, and really, Pete felt like a fucking asshole for it, but in that moment, everything was just about Mikey, and he couldn't quite bring himself to care at all.

"You're too fucking nice to me." Mikey sighed out, well aware of the eyeliner that he'd caused to run onto Pete's shirt - thankfully, due to Pete's emo lifestyle, it was a black shirt, but still, eyeliner stains weren't fun. "But thank you, I guess."

"It's okay." Pete smiled, meeting Mikey's eyes, and gazing into them for just a little too long. "I care about you, Mikey." And really, this was getting suspiciously homosexual at this point, and still, there was no sign of any 'no homo alarm bells' in either boy's head.

"I care about you too, even though you're a fucking idiot, Pete Wentz." Mikey added, and really, that was just about the nicest thing that Mikey Way had ever said to anyone that wasn't Ray Toro. "You're a cute fucking idiot though- hey, did you stay here the whole time? At my bedside- Pete, please tell me that you didn't, because fuck-"

"I did." Pete sighed out, pulling his gaze away out of shame. "I did, Mikey."

And then, just like that, silence: a silence far too prolonged and far too awkward.

And Pete was most definitely fucked, but he couldn't for the life of him figure as to why, whereas Mikey knew it like hell, and really, it was killing him on the inside.

"You shouldn't have." Mikey finally broke the silence with a somewhat half-hearted response.

"But I did." Pete added, biting down on his bottom lip, and daring to meet Mikey's gaze, and finding that within seconds they'd found themselves in an almost uncomfortable lock of eye contact: the same stupid fucking stare that Pete had tried to avoid.

"Why?" Mikey couldn't help ask, because curiosity was exactly what killed the cat, well, vampire, well nearly.

"Because I care about you." And there it came again: a lack of guts and just as good as they were going to get, but not as fucked up as it could be.

Mikey fixed that though; Mikey fixed that with a kiss within seconds - it was nothing, but everything at the same time, and Pete was pretty sure he was the one that had died and this was heaven for the first few moments, but then there was something going on downstairs that God certainly wouldn't approve of in heaven.

"I care about you too. I'm sorry." Mikey added, pulling away, and before silence had another chance to strangle that two of them in its deadly grip, Pete's lips were back on Mikey's - returning the gesture, and for the first time, they really felt okay.

-

Within the next day or so, Mikey was just about fine and functioning as a not quite lively undead being should, well, at least medically: emotionally was an entirely different story. Bob was still utterly insistent that he didn't leave his house though, at least for the time being, just so he could keep an eye on him, just in case everything suddenly went to shit, and it did a fucking amazing job of keeping Pete occupied.

Bob was still pretty much fucked though, because although the situation with Mikey may have been getting better, the situation with Ray most certainly was not.

The 'ghost corpse' or whatever the fuck it was (even Bob didn't know, and if Bob didn't know then this seriously had to be some fucked up crazy shit) seemed to be 'decaying', dying, almost, but it- Ray, was already dead, and really Bob just hadn't the slightest fucking clue as to what he was supposed to do in this situation.

For one, he certainly couldn't just present it to everyone and let someone else deal with it, because Mikey would go absolutely apeshit, and probably end up getting himself killed for real this time just to try and save his dead boyfriend from his second death, and Bob was not emotionally prepared for dealing with Pete panicking over Mikey's possible death again.

The love triangle here was just fucking ridiculous - fucking triangles, fuck the illuminati.

There was also the matter that Bob couldn't just simply leave Ray's ghost corpse underneath the rug in his spare room for eternity, because although the rest of this fucking town may not be the brightest, someone was going to find it eventually, and with Bob's luck, it would most definitely be Mikey, especially with him in Bob's house for the next couple of days or so.

And really, Bob was getting dangerously close to just giving in and asking Bert for help, but Bob really wouldn't be surprised if Bert had already had a vision depicting exactly what was going on here, and maybe, just maybe, Bob was a little scared to discover just how this ended.

Status quo was good for him right now, even if it ensured that far too much of his time was taken up by 'guarding' the rug in the spare room whilst pretending to be concentrating very hard on some really fucking important shit, or really just anything that Pete would believe without question.

Pete Wentz wasn't exactly the hardest person to lie to, however, with Mikey, that just simply wasn't the case.

Pete was taking up all of Mikey's time and attention to the very extent that he wasn't even sure that Mikey even knew that there was a spare room, so maybe, just maybe, if he was quick, Bob could afford a quick visit to see Bert, and chance whatever advice he could pick out from the reel of sarcastic responses.

He decided it better not to announce to either Mikey or Pete that he was even going out in the first place, intending so that he'd be back before they'd even noticed his absence, and with just how caught up they were with one another, such a possibility wouldn't exactly be all that far fetched. 

Bob knew there was something going on there; he wasn't entirely sure as to what, but he knew that it most certainly wasn't nothing, and he reckoned that if he didn't bother to ask, then maybe, just maybe, they wouldn't bother to ask about the awfully suspicious lump in the rug in the spare room.

Because it really wouldn't make Bob look good if he had to admit that the lump was actually the second corpse of Mikey's dead boyfriend.

And then, Mikey'd want some sort of explanation as to how on earth his boyfriend had managed to die twice, and really, Bob was still working on that one.

-

Mikey Way sat on the counter top of Bob Bryar's kitchen, watching as Pete Wentz searched the cupboards for some form of painkillers - apparently, vampires could get headaches, or at least slightly more moral vampires could: either that or Mikey was just slowly dying unbeknownst to everyone, which really would be quite a plot twist.

"There are no fucking painkillers, Mikey." Pete sighed, groaning as he got up from where he was crotched down in order to thoroughly search the kitchen cupboards for Mikey, who just totally couldn't fucking move at all because he had a headache - or at least Mikey had somehow managed to convince Pete as such.

"Don't move." Mikey exclaimed, deadly serious.

"Why?"

"I've got a really good view of your ass like this." The vampire's face broke into a grin as Pete got up, raising his eyebrows at his boyfriend, pretending that he was offended and totally not just really fucking flattered.

"That sounds like something I'd say." Pete added, frowning as he considered just how much effort it would be to sue Mikey for copyright infringement, before coming to the conclusion that if he did, Mikey would probably be pretty pissed off, and this sort of 'magical trance' would be broken.

The magical trance Pete was referring to was the one that kept Mikey in the state of acting like he and Pete were boyfriends, and although it may just have something to do with the headache or whatever, Pete knew that he was in absolutely no position to question its magic whatsoever.

"I'm going to go ask Bob where the painkillers are - stay here, okay, he's just in the spare room, I think." Pete met Mikey's gaze all too sternly, acting very much like an overly protective boyfriend, and really, Mikey was perfectly happy not questioning Pete's behaviour at all.

But as Pete made his way into the spare room and found the place to be empty, things really went to shit.

And shit meaning that Pete's gaze fell directly to the Ray Toro sized lump under the carpet.

But since this was Pete, and he was absolutely clueless to even the fact that Ray hadn't just died completely the first time, he assumed that Bob had simply gone to sleep... under the rug.

The eighteen year old's head worked in questionable ways, to say the least.

And so, as Pete carefully lifted the rug in order to reveal what he thought would be Bob and gently wake him up, it wasn't entirely surprising that he was screaming his fucking head of at the sight of Ray's ghostly, decaying, barely there and generally just fucking fucked up corpse.

At the sound of his boyfriend's screams, despite his 'life-threatening' headache, Mikey came running to see just what the hell was wrong.

And of course, Needless to say, Bob wasn't exactly expecting to come home to the sound of Pete Wentz screaming.

-

"What the fuck is wrong with him?" Mikey found himself practically yelling at Bob Bryar as he sat in the chair in the spare room, his eyes never leaving Ray's body, which had now been removed from under the rug and placed on the table.

"I don't have the slightest fucking clue." Bob sighed out for what felt like the millionth time, and still, Mikey just didn't ever seem to quite get it. "He's dead, but he's not, but he is."

"He's sort of drifting in between life states right now." Bert added out of nowhere: sat in the corner of room and generally just observing the situation between the other three. "Eventually his body's just going to decay away into nothing if we don't manage to keep him 'alive' somehow."

"How the fuck do you know this?" Mikey added, in utter distrust of Bert, despite his visions and the fact that he did generally seem to have a pretty good idea as to what was going on, but whatever, give Mikey a break, he just found the sort of body of his sort of dead boyfriend under a rug.

"So you're saying that I actually could have just left this and the problem would have gone away by itself?" Bob asked, eyebrows raised and just minutes away from being Mikey taking the liberty of punching him in the face.

"But the thing is, we can't just fucking resurrect him, the only way to stabilise him properly is to 'kill' him and just hope for the best-"

"Mikey could turn him." Pete sighed out, causing all eyes in the room to land upon him (besides Ray, of course, that would have been both utterly illogical and just kind of creepy). "That would technically 'kill' him, but he'd still be alive, sort of, I guess... I mean, it might not work but-"

"I'm going to do it." Mikey got up before Pete could even finish his sentence: absolutely certain in his decision.

"That's going to break the treaty!" Bob exclaimed, getting up and attempting to stop Mikey, but from the look of determination in the vampire's eyes, he knew it was already too late.

Mikey Way would do anything for Ray Toro, and one stupid fucking treaty was never going to change that. 

-


	24. One Big Gay Vampire Shitstorm

Frank was okay, for the most part, at least right now anyway: he hadn't heard from Alex in a few days, and him and Gerard were pretty much fine, well they were fucking on pretty much a daily basis, and therefore, Frank was just left to conclude that everyday fucking was just what fine meant to Gerard: he wasn't the easiest person to date, to say the least, but for Frank, he was the only person worth dating, even if Frank had to put up with stroppy vampire fits on occasion, or well, more than just occasion, he still loved him, and that looked incredibly unlikely that it was going to change anytime soon.

Or at least that was what Frank thought.

And in fact, the nineteen year old was so fucking complacently happy that he had even opted to spend the day fucking baking with his grandmother, who really wasn't actually that bad when his grandfather wasn't around, and as long as the topic of conversation was strictly cookies and nothing else, because goddamn, although she may be nice to him right now, there was no question about the fact that she would kill him if she found out about Gerard and just what they were doing.

Gerard was pretty much the arch nemesis of the Catholic Church: he was like the fucking antichrist. And simply because he was a combination of all things strict, almost scary Catholics hated: a vampire and a homosexual.

And of course, Gerard would be nothing but proud to know this, and would probably end up adding it to his CV if he ever considered stopping being an undead creature who drank blood and instead becoming someone behind the counter at McDonalds.

It was unlikely, to say the least, but whatever.

"Frank, are you listening?" The nineteen year old was soon sprung from a rather 'interesting' daydream involving Gerard killing his grandparents - he wasn't mentally disturbed, he promised. 

"N- sorry, I was-" Frank stuttered out, coming within seconds of letting a sarcastic and generally unwelcomed 'not really' slip in front of his grandmother.

"Daydreaming." She finished for him, sighing out. "I know." And really, Frank didn't know quite what to make of that, and just continued stirring the bowl of ingredients whilst pretending to show at least a vague interest: he was doing alright, he thought, at least.

"Your head's in an entirely different world to your body: I was like you when I was younger." The explanation came after a few minutes of silence, and it caused Frank to stop and pondered her confession for just a second, before turning to make eye contact with his grandmother.

"Why not anymore?" He asked, curious, and to the extent that she'd even begin to regret telling him anything of the like in the first place.

"I grew up." She sighed out, turning away in an attempt to keep the look on her face hidden. "I realised that there's no use in the fact; the real world, reality's down here."

"I don't want to ever be like that." Frank's tone grew quiet, almost awaiting the punishment for saying such a thing, but to his surprise, no such punishment came his way.

"Neither did I."

And then, like nothing had happened, she was back to grease proofing a baking tin, and Frank was left to wonder about the whole world and what could have been.

"Why-" Frank tried, he did, but it was over, and perhaps he just refused to accept as such.

"Leave it, Frank. Please, it's unimportant." And in the silence which Frank struggled to fill, the front door slammed upon and in came his grandfather, and almost in turn, the sinking feeling in the bottom of Frank's stomach: the two didn't get along, to say the least, and to say all that Frank could.

"I wasn't expecting you yet-" Frank's grandmother began, only to be cut off by her husband: face contorted with anger as if it was on fire with rage, and Frank was just frozen upon the spot: eyes widen and open in his grandfather's direction.

"Broken." He slammed his fist against the kitchen counter top, causing Frank to jump back a little, and his wife to only flinch, keeping eye contact with her husband as he spoke to her. "It's broken, you know what." And then a glance in Frank's direction. "It."

"The treaty?" She exclaimed, eyes widening a little in shock: the cookie mixture half made and abandoned, as Frank's heart beat slowed and then doubled and then stopped completely for a good few seconds before hammering in his chest at such a rhythm that he began to fear for it falling out.

Frank's grandfather glanced in Frank's direction, before sending his gaze back to his wife. "He doesn't need to know."

"He has to, now, at the very least - it's not going to be a secret forever, no matter what we do." She stood up to her husband in what was a rather questionable belief, and although worthy, one unless to her, as Frank stood there beside her, knowing far too much and far much more than the two of them.

"The treaty is unimportant-" He tried again, but as Frank slowly began to breathe regularly again, he swallowed the vomit crawling up the back of his throat and met his grandfather straight in the eyes.

"I know about the treaty. I know what it is and I know who it involves, and I know far much more than you'd think." Frank exhaled, almost smiling at the next part. "I've been here for months now - did you really think that I wasn't ever going to find out about the vampires that are fucking talk of the town."

"Don't use that word." His grandfather's response was startled and unsettled, yet quick in succession: his head racing as Frank spoke.

"What? I'm nineteen, it's just a swear-" Frank protested, fucking astounded that his use of the word 'fuck' was just about the only thing that mattered to his grandfather in such a confession.

"Not that one. The 'v word' - don't use it, we don't, the church don't - that's what's right." He sighed out, taking his coat off and hanging it on the hook before returning to an absolute fuming Frank.

"You know what? That's bullshit." Frank had lost his cool by now, and really, he'd lost just about everything: his head racing at a million miles a minute as he struggled to figure out just what that meant for Gerard and Mikey and Bob and everyone. Frank reckoned that Bob was probably freaking the fuck out right now, and well, he wasn't wrong.

"Frank-"

"You can't just ignore the fact that they exist to make yourself feel better about it, and you can't just refuse to say the word vampire as if it's a curse, because this isn't a curse and it isn't some Catholic church bullshit- it's real, it's fucking real... they're real... vampires, although technically dead, have lives, and they have feelings too, and although the ones in charge - the corrupted would have done this, I can guarantee you that there are vampires, just like me, just like us that don't want this, that just want peace and for everything to be okay."

"Give me your hand." Frank's grandfather snapped out, grabbing Frank's wrist before the nineteen year old could even respond.

"What-"

He ripped Gerard's bracelet off Frank's wrist. "You're friends with the vampires, aren't you, Frank?" He held the bracelet up to Frank. "This is vampiric - symbols, power, curses. I'm not sure what it means, but I am sure that you shouldn't be even talking to vampires let alone accepting cursed gifts from them if you at all value your life." He slammed his fist back down against the counter. "Who gave you this?"

And in a moment of idiocy, powered by adrenaline, Frank looked his grandfather straight in the eyes. "My boyfriend."

"You know what killed your parents, Frank?" His grandfather stepped closer: at breaking point now and it was beyond clear. "Vampires! Slaughtered them, destroyed them, and I have right to believe that such vampires are after you next. You're staying here, you got that? And I'm going to find this piece of shit that killed your parents and fucking-"

"Who." Frank's eyes widened, his head practically rolling off his shoulders as he had about six panic attacks all at once. "Who killed my parents?"

"His- It's name is Gerard Way."

-

Frank had stormed out after that, regardless of what they said, at that, Frank was utterly deadset upon finding this asshole of a boyfriend of his, and fucking slitting his throat, because fuck- just what the fuck?

Frank's head was full of a million questions and not a single answer, and it was driving him crazy, to see the least, and it was driving him to the point of wanting to kill his boyfriend, to say the most.

Because, fuck, this was not okay, and it never would be, and Frank didn't even know where he was headed, his feet just seemed to drag him to Bob's place: he just needed something or someone to punch and someone to scream at and tell his problems, and the maybe, just maybe, it'd all be okay.

It was unlikely, but Frank was more interested in actions as opposed to their outcome.

And within minutes, he was banging on Bob Bryar's door with his fist, and hoping that whoever answered it didn't have a particularly punchable face, because otherwise, well, to put it lightly, they were fucked.

"Frank-" He jumped a little as he found himself face to face with none other than Gerard Way: wide eyes trailing down to Frank's fists, and he almost looked startled, scared, and not like he was even capable of killing Frank's parents, but he did, and he had, and Frank knew it like he knew that he wanted nothing more than to punch that stare off his pretty little face.

And Frank did, and perhaps a little harder than he had originally intended.

Gerard ended up falling back against the wall with a rather satisfying crash, and Frank was left stood there: empty, and yet full of every question on the goddamn planet as he met his 'boyfriend's gaze again.

"I didn't break the treaty, Frank." Gerard sighed out, not quite sure what to make of this at all: this wasn't supposed to happen, Frank didn't hate him, Frank couldn't hate him - Gerard had made sure of that, but then he noticed the absence of the bracelet on Frank's wrist. "Mikey did." It was useless, but he still tried.

"I don't care." Frank snapped in response, rolling his eyes as he heard people moving towards them through the living room: it didn't matter. "You did kill my parents though."

And silence.

Because there was no way that Gerard could lie and manipulate his way out of this one, especially not now, especially not like this - that was for certain, yet still, he couldn't quite accept the fate of losing Frank, because whether he liked it or not, Frank Iero was more than he had bargained for, yet he still wouldn't change a thing, because there was just something beautiful about the nineteen year old that Gerard reckoned he'd never even begin to understand.

Frank was just beautiful, and with time, this had become more of love than lust, and really, that was the last thing Gerard had anticipated, and in turn, the last thing he'd anticipated being okay with, but he was, and they were - okay, that is.

But the truth was inevitable, this served to prove that, at the very least.

"Frank?" He jumped a little as Bob appeared in the doorway, glancing between the two of them with nothing short of a 'what the actual fuck has happened? Why here? Why now? I hate you so much, please I don't need this' expression.

"I'm okay." Gerard added, forcing a smile, but it became more of a wince, as he stood up properly.

"Gerard, your nose is bleeding, your lip is bleeding, you have like three bruises on your face-" Bob protested, still utterly clueless as to how on earth they'd gotten here.

"Whatever. I've had worse." Gerard struggled it, off forcing a smile, obviously fake smile in Bob's direction as he made a conscious and almost awkward effort to avoid Frank's gaze for as long as humanly possible, well technically Gerard wasn't a human, but, whatever.

"Yeah, like the wounds you got when you fucking killed my parents." Frank caught his gaze at that moment, leaving Bob to just stare at the two of them for a moment as he began to process just what the fuck had really just happened. "Fuck you, Gerard Way. Fuck you - I don't even want an explanation, I don't want more lies. I don't want to see you or talk to you again."

And with that Frank turned to make an exit, but then, he met the gaze of none other than Ray Toro, stood in the kitchen, 'spectating'.

-

"He's a fucking vampire now?" Frank exclaimed, shaking his head in utter disbelief at Ray, glancing between Mikey, Ray, Pete as the three attempted to catch him up on what had happened since Mikey nearly died.

Gerard had attempted to just get the fuck out of there, but Bob had made it clear that such a thing simply wasn't going to happen and dragged the vampire into the spare room, yes, the one where Ray's body lay under the rug for several days, but no one else needed to know that.

"Yeah." Ray sighed out, almost forcing a smile in Frank's direction, before turning to Mikey, and almost as if in reassurance, and it was just a little odd, to say the least, but it was none of Frank's business, and his head was already spinning like crazy, so he thought it best just to stay out of it, at least for the time being.

"He would have died otherwise." Mikey added, not quite meeting Frank's gaze, or Ray's either, for that matter. It was certainly odd, and as time passed, it only became harder and harder to ignore, and that was causing somewhat of a morality problem, to say the least.

"Actually he could have died like this as well, and he technically is dead, but-" Pete began, only for Mikey to give him a shove and his words to fade into silence entirely too quickly.

"Yeah... he's a vampire now, get over it." Mikey concluded, leaving Frank to turn away for a moment, glancing to the spare room where Gerard and Bob had headed, and in consequence, spent entirely too long just trying to stop himself from thinking about Gerard Way, from caring about Gerard Way, but he found himself meeting far more obstacles in such a mission than he'd ever care to admit.

"You knew, didn't you?" Frank drew his gaze back to Mikey, his tone stern and his words meaning far much more than he ever should have allowed them to, but Frank was too careless and too careful and all at the same time, and still always at the wrong times too - he was a fuck up, to put it simply.

"Frank-" Mikey was wide-eyed and flustered within seconds, almost pulling himself away from Frank as he shuffled into Ray's side, leaving Pete stood beside the two almost awkwardly, and almost regretfully, and Frank knew he'd been piecing this together soon enough, because at this point, there was absolutely no denying that there was something there.

"You fucking knew- you knew what he did, you did- you knew, and never, fucking never, did you ever even consider the tiny possibility of ever even wanting to consider telling me? Did it never even cross your mind that maybe, just maybe, such a thing was important? No, of course it didn't." Frank stepped away, shaking his head at Mikey. "Fuck you, Mikey Way, seriously, fuck you."

"Frank, just let me explain- things between Gerard and I are beyond complicated and-"

"And what? And nothing. You're as bad as him and I'm fucking going, Mikey, fuck this, fuck you, fuck him." Frank glanced across at the three of them one final time, before heading for the door. "You fucking knew, and I bet you did too, didn't you, Ray? We all know you're big on not telling me things- I mean, it's great that you're not dead now, but seriously, this is fucked up, we're all fucked up, and you know it."

"You're fucked up, Frank, if you ever even considered the possibility that Gerard Way was a good person, that is." 

And with that, Frank slammed the door behind them, only to find himself almost falling into Bert McCracken.

"Frank? Fuck, Frank- look, I need-" Bert began, his words stuttered and rushed: all too much and not enough, and all at once, yet Frank was utterly disinterested: his head spinning like crazy and just about ready to punch anyone in the face who even considered opposing him.

He just needed out of here, he just needed somewhere, something, someone to make this all fade away, and it took him far too much to forget that in situations such as these, it was getting fucked by Gerard that usually did the trick, but this time, Frank wasn't getting fucked, he was just getting fucked over, because Gerard Way was nothing more than the bane of his fucking existence.

"It's not a good time, Bert, really not a good time." Frank stopped for a moment, glancing towards Bob's house behind him and then at Bert and came to the conclusion, that perhaps, just maybe, this could possibly just be something important. "What?"

"I had a vision, like the one in which Ray... Ray died, and that came true... so... fuck-" Bert shook his head violently, almost as if in denial that he'd even had such a vision in the first place, and Frank was growing all the more intrigued by the second.

"Ray's fucking back again now, so that doesn't matter, Mikey bit him, or his 'corpse' or something and so now he's fucking vampire and why am I the only one who finds this just a bit fucked up and just a little dodgy... like ghosts just don't have corpses magically, and surely, surely it isn't just that easy to reanimate them."

"Not my area of expertise, if Bob says it's fine, then, just go with Bob, look-" Bert shrugged it off, attempting to explain the contents of his most recent vision to Frank, but soon found the nineteen year old cutting him off again.

"Bob's just kind of shrugged it off, like man, he's already stressed out as fuck with this whole treaty shit, and Mikey's so defensive and just over the moon about it that I just can't help but feel that he's too overjoyed to finally have his boyfriend back to even consider the fact that this is just a little fucking sketchy-"

"Frank- Frank, just..." Bert sighed out, grabbing Frank's hand, and in turn, his attention. "My vision, it's important, because these things don't usually tend to be wrong, and I... I saw death again, up in the graveyard and blood and violence everywhere: loud, screaming but faded, almost blurry, surreal, but incredibly clear at the same time-"

"What-" Frank began, his eyes widening just a little as the fact that Bert had seen someone die finally sank in, and as did the possibility that it could be him.

"This is hard to tell you Frank, fuck, this is unbelievably hard to tell you, but I have to, and you have to hear it, because we have to at least try to stop this, I can't, I- I care about you and-"

"Just tell me who." Frank stuttered out, his words strained and forced, almost as if he was tightrope walking for his own life, and perhaps, just perhaps he was.

"Frank- it-it's... it's Gerard."

-


	25. Drama In The Homosexual Vampire Community

Frank was fucking tired: it was barely five in the morning, and not only was Frank awake, he hadn't even gone to sleep in the first place.

He had needed some time to himself to think, and it soon became painfully apparent that the aforementioned time had soon grown from a few minutes into a few hours, and maybe, Frank Iero didn't care nearly as much as he should have done.

The park was nice this early: quiet and almost devoid of all life itself, and Frank kind of needed the peace that brought him, because with what Bert had told him earlier- well, hours ago now, he needed to finally get his head to stop spinning, and start making some sense of anything at all.

Because everything was clouded and fucked up and torn with his hatred for Gerard: the lies and the murders and the mess and the fucking, and everything and how that still all meant far much more than it ever should, and then the fear - the absolute fear of truly losing the one person he was supposed to despise with everything he had.

It was ridiculous, and almost as if Frank's head was screwed on backwards, or simply not there at all, or something, which really probably even would have helped him here, because this was simply a battle of his heart and his head, and there seemed to be absolutely no hope for either of the two winning, and holy fuck, Frank hated nothing like he hated this limbo, and this nothingness, this emptiness, this headache.

Alone was good, but not now, fuck, right now, Frank needed someone more than ever, but what he really needed above all, was the guts to actually admit that to himself - never mind someone else, because that seemed like nothing more than a pipedream at this point, and it looked an awful lot like it was going to stay that way.

But then, Frank almost jumped out of his own skin as someone sat down beside him on the bench. 

"Frank." It only took one fucking word - the call of his name, for the nineteen year old to know everything about who he was dealing with here, because the stranger sat beside him wasn't a stranger at all, but god, Frank would have given anything for the person beside him to have been a stranger all along.

"Alex- fuck, I-" And as usual, Alex cut him off before he barely got a few words through his lips, leaving Frank wide eyed and utterly dumbstruck as to how Alex had made his way from New York and right onto this fucking bench in this fucking park with Frank fucking Iero, because just like this, with one word from him, memory of Alex had faded away as he stopped being unimportant and distant, and became far more real than Frank would ever care to admit, because if there was anything that Frank Iero wanted, it was for this whole fucking mess just to fade right away.

"I'm here to see you, Frank, not to fuck your life up - stop looking at me like you're scared of me, stop looking at me like you hate me... stop hating me. I'm your best friend, you care about me, don't you, Frankie?" Alex sighed out, grabbing Frank's hand as he spoke. "Come on, I know you do, even if you're back with Gerard, you still care."

"I'm not with Gerard." Frank snapped, and perhaps with just too much vigour, because maybe Frank was putting entirely too much effort into hating Gerard Way, because maybe, it was so fucking hard that Frank would even consider calling such a thing impossible.

"Oh, well, that's... unfortunate." Alex raised his eyebrows before turning away slightly and setting his gaze upon the horizon. "Tell me about it - what happened between the two of you?"

"We just... we just... I..." Frank stuttered, tripping over his words as he soon came to realise that there was no easy, simple way to convey the fact that Gerard Way had killed his parents and lied about everything to Frank from day one, and still, Frank was awkwardly and reluctantly in love with him, despite the fact that he'd never even consider admitting such a thing, even if it was the most obvious of truths.

"It was bad, wasn't it, Frankie? God, I told you about him, but you never fucking listen, do you? Now, come on, come here." And before Frank could even truly process what was happening, Alex was hugging him tight against his chest, and really, Frank couldn't help feel just a little weird like this. "You'll always be my best friend, Frank, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah..." Frank sighed out, pulling away with a shrug, because really, he was well aware of that fact, but as to whether he was at all happy about it was a different matter entirely, and not really one that he'd like to discuss with Alex.

"He was just using you, as like a fucktoy, you know that as well, don't you?" Alex put his arm around Frank, pulling the nineteen year old into his chest.

"I... uhm... I don't know about that... I-" Frank was unsure just how to go on from that, because there was one fucking clue answer here and that was that Alex was wrong, but Frank didn't reckon he had the guts to just flat out tell him that.

"I came all the way over here for you, Frank." Alex told him, grabbing Frank's hand, and leaving Frank to panic a little. "I came here because I care about you more than I care about anything else and you just don't seem to appreciate that, do you? He's fucking brainwashed you - that's what, and this is fucking stupid, Frank, you know that I'm who you can trust."

"You came here to get me back and you got lucky in the fact that I just happen to be single right now. That's what happened, Alex." And it soon became apparent that in the last ten seconds, Frank Iero had miraculously grown some balls. "It's not going to happen - I don't love you, and I don't care about you either. I don't want anything to do with you."

"You're in love with him, aren't you? You're still in love with him." Alex scoff, pulling away from the nineteen year old with a roll of his eyes. "You're fucking pathetic, you know that, don't you? You say you're over him but you're not, and you say you're over me, but you're not."

"Alex, shut the fuck up-" And with that, Alex slapped him, clean across the face, leaving Frank almost frozen in shock for a good few seconds.

"Don't fucking lie to me, Frank." Alex rolled his eyes, getting up with so much as a glance in Frank's direction, as he left the nineteen year old sat there, shaking in shock, but even if Frank was going to let him get away that easily, there was someone else who wasn't going to follow suit.

"You don't fucking slap him, you hear me?" Frank jumped at the sound of a second familiar voice, and he frozen for the second time as he watched Gerard step out of the shadows and grab Alex by the collar of his shirt. And really, despite the situation, Frank just couldn't help but wonder as to how Gerard had been sitting there, waiting in the shadows, just fucking watching him, and although that was some serious Edward Cullen shit, Frank couldn't help but feel honoured in some weirdass way.

"So you finally turned up to fight for your boyfriend, huh? Well, I've got to say, you're a little late. Gerard, isn't it?" Alex snapped, shoving Gerard away from him, only for the vampire to then slam him against a tree trunk, holding him down as he glared at him.

"Yeah, I'm Gerard, and you're going to fuck right off, Alex." Gerard snapped, absolutely ignoring every little brain cell that was advising him against being an awkward over-protective not quite boyfriend right now, for the sake of his sanity at the very least, because Frank Iero was something else entirely - the kind of something that he was more than prepared to completely fuck himself up for it.

"Gerard-" Frank finally managed to get a word from his lips, standing up and making his way over to the two of them. "Don't hurt him." He pleaded: voice weak and generally unconvincing, but Gerard's soft spot for Frank Iero was proven to be his one weakness once again, as the vampire pulled away from Alex, even if he never did stop glaring at him.

"He fucking slapped you - I can't let that happen. No one's allowed to hurt you, Frank- well, maybe I am, but then that's only when you consent to it-"

"Yet you were fine with k-... you know what, huh?" Frank snapped, rolling his eyes at Gerard. "I fucking hate you, remember that, and beating up my ex-boyfriend isn't going to help your case in the slightest."

"Am I allowed to beat him up?" Alex piped up, gesturing to Gerard and smirking like the world's biggest asshole.

"No you're not." Frank shook his head, exhaling loudly. "I don't want to date either of you - please just fuck off, the both of you- look, if you're both just pathetic, desperate singles, then hey, maybe you should just date each other- I don't fucking care, just leave me alone!"

"Whatever, see you soon, Frankie." And with that, Alex flashed Frank the world's most unnerving smirk before stepping back into the shadows and fucking disappearing.

"Wait- what?" Frank exclaimed, utterly dumbstruck and blinking at the spot that Alex had stood in, almost as if he expected him to suddenly appear back there, but no such thing happened.

"Seems like I'm not the only one who lied to you, Frank." Gerard sighed out, biting down on his bottom lip as he struggled to keep calm about what he'd just seen, because regardless of the circumstance, there was absolutely no way that this could ever be a good thing, at all.

"I can't deal with this." Frank shook his head, turning away and trying not to immediately freak the fuck out. "My head's fucking spinning and I just can't focus because I can't even get a moment of thought to myself without some asshole turning up and spoiling everything- and how long, just how fucking long were you stood there watching me?"

"Couple of hours now." Gerard admitted with an awkward shrug. "I wanted to make sure that you were okay, and it really does seem like you needed me there, doesn't it?"

"He just slapped me, Gerard, that's nothing." Frank protested, rolling his eyes and walking away, only for Gerard to grab him by the hand and pull him back. "Gerard, fuck off, I-"

"It's not nothing to me, because fuck, Frank, I care about you, and I'm so fucking sorry, and I want to make this work, I really do, Frank, I really fucking do-" And Gerard was stubborn as hell and there was no better proof than this, and really, Frank was moments away from just forgiving him because Gerard was his soft spot, and there was absolutely no way around that, not even persistent denial, which Frank was getting rather good at right now, actually.

"Well, I don't." Frank shook his head, pulling away once again. "You can't do this and we can't work, because I can't trust you and I hate you- fuck I'm supposed to hate you, but still I can't even manage to do that, because I'm stuck with this feeling sorry for you bullshit and it's driving me crazy, because it's not even realistic and I shouldn't care about you at all because you're just an asshole, but I- fuck, I can't help myself, and goddamn, I still can't hate you for that."

"Why do you feel sorry for me?" Gerard asked, eyes growing wide, leaving Frank's jaw to drop about a million metres as he came to the realisation that he'd just let slip a certain piece of information relating to the vision that Bert had relayed to him a few hours prior.

And Frank knew that he should most definitely tell Gerard, especially when it so seriously affected him personally, and then with the fact that Bert tended to be right about this things, somehow, it was spooky as hell, but definitely kind of useful, but still, Frank just couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Nothing. No reason. It doesn't matter - just go."

"Frank-"

"Fucking go!"

-

"I know you slept with him." Ray, Mikey, and Pete stood alone in Bob Bryar's kitchen, engaged what was probably the least pleasurable conversation known to mankind. "It's obvious, Mikey, don't even try to lie - I can see it, and I wish I couldn't, and I wish I could just wish this all away, but I can't and you know that- and it's not like this is the first time, is it?"

"Ray, please-" Mikey begged out, shaking his head and biting down on his bottom lip in a not exactly successful attempt to hold back his tears, but he was trying at least, and that was what should have counted. "Please, can we just talk about this civilly, and we just fucking think about this and sort it out, instead of letting everything fall apart, again- Ray, you didn't come back just to waste that all again, and I can't- I just can't lose you again, you know that, don't you?"

"Then you should have stayed away from him." Ray pointed in Pete's direction, narrowing his eyes at Mikey. "Anyway, it wasn't my choice to be turned into a fucking cold, apathic asshole of a vampire, was it? In fact, I had absolutely no say in the matter whatsoever, so there's absolutely no way that you can make this my fault - got it?"

"You only didn't get a say because you were dead - you couldn't have provided an opinion if you wanted to! Ray, I would have let you make the choice if you could have done, I promise, but in that situation, I had no choice - it was saving you or losing you and I picked the choice that makes sense to me!"

"Maybe you should have just left me dead: that was how I should have stayed, and you know it, but you were being selfish again, like you're being selfish with everything and like you're being selfish with Pete, because he hasn't had a single say in this whatsoever, despite the fact that it very much involves him as well, and that's ridiculous, Mikey, you know that, and you know just how much of an asshole you're being."

"Fine, what the fuck do you want me to do, Ray?" Mikey lost it right then and right there, resorting to downright screaming at Ray. "There's nothing I can do, and you just don't seem to realise that - this is fucked, get over it! And don't waste your second chance, you should be just a little grateful to me, at the very least, don't you think?"

"I don't have to do or be anything, especially anything that you tell me." Ray rolled his eyes, pulling away from Mikey. "We were done the first time, and bringing me back to life didn't change that at all, did it? And I bet my whole damn resurrected life that you fucked Pete at least once while I was dead - I'm better off not being here, aren't I? You don't need me, Mikey, and that's more than fucking clear-"

"Ray, please, I can promise you that he never stopped thinking about you - he visited the record store everyday and just sat there for hours - for you!" Pete pleaded, standing up for the person he loved, but standing up for them in a manner that would increase the chances of their ex-boyfriend taking them back, and really in this situation, Pete could either be incredibly stupid or incredibly kind, and Ray couldn't help but suspect the former.

"Good for him." Ray snorted, rolling his eyes. "Fucking glad that you feel guilty, and I hope you're fucking glad that you killed me, even if I wasn't the intended target in the first place. You know how I died, Pete? No, of course you don't- he poisoned some wine that was supposed to be for you, but I was the one who ended up drinking it, so I ended up dying instead of you." 

And in the jaw dropping silence that he'd created, Ray grinned. "I expect a thank you, Wentz."

And with that, Ray Toro made his way out of the room and left Bob Bryar's house, and unbeknownst to any of the three, never to return again.

-

"Mikey, please- tell me he's fucking with us!" Pete begged out, practically screaming at this point: his face tearstained and his fingers curled tightly around Mikey's, as he held onto the vampire as if he had the intentions of never ever letting go.

"Pete, I-" Mikey stopped, his words almost freezing in his throat, and fuck, suddenly he felt as sick as fuck, and god, he was going to hurl all over Pete if he didn't manage to calm himself down within the next five seconds.

Thankfully, he did, and managed to gather his composure and look Pete Wentz in the eye, and tell him the truth: the fucking destructive, life ruining truth, but the truth nonetheless. "He's right."

And Pete was silent for entirely too long: at first he couldn't even believe what he was hearing, in fact, he didn't want to, and god, his head was spinning like he was condemned to spend the rest of his life tied to some sort of sadistic, murderous carousel.

"He's right." Pete repeated, shaking his head and backing away from Mikey, utterly disgusted at the guy before him, and suddenly unable to recognise just what he'd ever seen in Mikey Way in the first place. "He's right about you. You're selfish, and you're cold, and you're cruel, and you're arrogant, and I hate you, and I'm going to leave now as well, because fuck you, Mikey, fuck you!"

"Pete, please, let me fix this - let me explain-" Mikey cried out, grabbing the eighteen year old by his arm and pulling him back to meet his gaze. "I didn't want to have to kill you, I didn't want to have to kill Ray - I didn't want to kill anyone. Gerard manipulated me, basically, you can even ask him, he'll be arrogant enough about it to just confess it to you, but please, Pete, please, believe me... I... I... love you..."

"You shouldn't- Mikey you shouldn't have said that-" Pete shook his head firmly, continuing to back away, but this time, Mikey let him, giving up inside, because maybe, he would just have to accept that Pete Wentz was one of things he was going to lose in life, much like Ray Toro, and despite his continuous efforts.

"I did, and I meant it, I meant it." Mikey promised him, never pulling his gaze away from Pete's. "I'm sorry, and I love you. Please."

"I need to think about this: it's fucked up and you know it."

"I know." Mikey sighed out, shaking his head. "I love you, though."

"I know."

-


	26. This Is Just Gay Twilight

"People die - they always do, always will, always have: get it over it. You can't save everyone, and at this rate, you can't save anyone." The voice was snappy and almost patronising in tone, and Bob felt as if he was being kicked down a thousand flights of stairs with every word spoken.

The two were alone, or at least they thought they were: but they were wrong, and that was just fine, as long as they remained utterly oblivious, in fact, like that, everything was fine, and perhaps that was just why it was the best way to live your life, and perhaps that was exactly why Ray had insisted that Frank stay innocent for as long as humanly possible, even if such a feat was ultimately impossible.

And perhaps Frank should have thanked him, instead of hating him, especially now in this state of retrospect, but still, it was too late to do anything: Ray hadn't been seen for days now, and Mikey was pretty much just dying inside, despite the fact he was already dead, so really, it had to be pretty big to kill him again.

But neither Frank, Mikey, nor Ray was the figure in the shadows that ensured the two were far from alone, at least not for the moment. The figure knew far better how to hide his presence, and his emotions as well, because ultimately an excess of emotion had been exactly what destroyed Mikey and Ray and everything they ever had and ever could be.

"I can try. I can fucking try!" Bob insisted, shaking his defiantly, and hating how he had to look up at the man, well, vampire - Bob hated speaking to them, especially when they were just so happy to lie about everything under the sun, and really, that made Bob want to do nothing more than throw them out under the sun and watch their fucking pale ass skin burn to dust.

"The treaty's broken, this is what happens, Bryar. You know that more than anyone, don't you? You've done your research, haven't you?" Bob only rolled his eyes in response: not exactly in the mood to be belittled by some blood drinking murdering asshole who thought he was the fucking shit and all because he had some fucking pointy ass teeth.

"We go to war." Bob nodded, gritting his teeth, and hating every goddamn vampire in the goddamn world right now. 

"I could bite you right now - there's nothing stopping me, Bryar-" And now this was just a power play: this was just an asshole being an asshole for the sake of belittling Bob further.

"I'd stop you." Bob promised him, scoffing a little and reaching inside his jacket pocket for his stake: gesturing it all too casually in the vampire's direction.

And of course, Bob received nothing but laughter in return for such a promise, but whatever, Bob fucking meant it - at the very least, the laughter was short lived and only due to the fact that the front door slammed open: practically snapping its hinges right then and there, and really, that wasn't something that Bob would have been all that appreciative of.

Bob reminded wide eyed and panicked as Frank Iero stormed into the house, slamming the door behind him, and clearly utterly unaware of just how fucked he'd become: no one was supposed to know about this meeting, and no one was supposed to hear any of it, and Bob couldn't help but feel that the vampire would not hesitate to attack, or even kill Frank.

"We have a visitor?" The vampire's eyebrows raised at that, grabbing Bob attention as he turned to pull his gaze over Frank: eyeing him up, but in more of a meal kind of way, as opposed to a homosexual one.

But speaking of homosexual Ways, the vampire made his biggest mistake in looking at Frank like that with Gerard Way watching from the shadows in the corner of the room.

"Frank, go." Bob snapped, grabbing Frank's attention the best he could, but Frank was just insistent upon fucking staring at the guy like he'd never seen a vampire before: of course he had, he'd been fucked by a vampire before, and several times, in fact, but still, he frozen on the spot and if he wasn't dying right now, there was certain vampire that would ensure that he was about to. "Frank-"

"Frank?" The vampire grinned, raising his eyebrows at the nineteen year old. "Very nice to meet you. Do you happen to know what blood type you are?"

"Uhh.." Frank stuttered out: Bob's panicked gazes finally making some sense, and leaving Frank with no time left to get away - almost tripping and falling as he turned, heading in the direction of the door, only to fall, like every cliché, right into Gerard's arms.

"Leave him the fuck alone." Gerard snapped, pulling Frank to his chest, before the nineteen year old could pull a 'no homo' and object, because really, fuck Frank's feelings right now: there wasn't a chance in hell that Gerard was just going to let this happen.

"Oh, Bob, did you happen to miss the memo that this was supposed to be a private meeting? I didn't want these faggots bursting in on us, or did you just not think about that? In the same way you didn't think when you let that Way kid break the treaty and fuck everything up-"

"Don't fucking talk about my brother like that." Gerard snapped, scowling at the vampire, with Frank still pushed up against his chest, and just maybe, right now, Frank didn't entirely mind: hell, he felt a lot safer right at Gerard’s side as opposed to right under the nose of the world's biggest blood sucking asshole.

"So, you're Gerard? I've heard a lot about you, but not as much as I'd like: surely you'd be all for this war - you do love a bit of bloodshed, after all?" Gerard inhaled sharply, feeling Frank pull away from him a little at that.

"No, I love my friends and my brother and I care about protecting them, so I'd appreciate it if you fucked right off and left them alone." Gerard snapped in response, leaving Frank just a little startled, and unsure as to just how on earth he was supposed to react.

"I could easily overpower you, Gerard, you know that. Don't fucking push it: Bob and I were just having a friendly chat - you and your little faggot of a boyfriend were the ones who fucked everything up here - remember that."

"Don't fucking say that- don't call him a faggot." Gerard was far more protective of Frank than he should be, but it was far, far too late for him to even consider trying to change that, because he cared about the guy, and that was just that: forever and always.

"I'll say and do what I like, and you'll fucking watch your shit if you-" And the vampire fell to the ground with a stake in his back and through to his chest - courtesy of none other than Bob Bryar.

"He was an asshole." Bob shrugged it off, pulling his stake out of the vampire and letting him fall to the floor. "We can burn his body later - right now I need some fucking weed." And with that, Bob made his way out the front door, leaving Gerard and Frank stood there: all too close, and with a fucking dead body barely a metre or so away.

"What the hell's going to happen?" Frank was the first to speak: pulling away from Gerard and making his way into the living room, and just generally away from the body, and really, it wasn't like Gerard blamed him.

"A lot of people are going to die." Gerard sighed out, shaking his head, and sitting down on the sofa beside Frank. "There's no other way to put it, but seriously, this kind of shit hasn't happened for a good seventy years, Frankie, and it isn't going to be good-"

"Exactly how old are you?" Frank interrupted him, looking up at the vampire with wide eyes. "I never really asked you, I mean like, vampires don't age, do they? I just always- I just thought you to be in your twenties, but you're not."

"It's closer to a hundred than twenty, honestly." Gerard admitted, leaving Frank to practically collapse at the realisation that he'd dated and been fucked by a guy more than eighty years older than him.

"What the fuck is this? Twilight?" Frank exclaimed, shaking his head, but leaning into Gerard's side nonetheless. "Fucking hell, I'd like to just forget that, because you're cute as hell, okay, and one hundred year olds aren't cute."

"If this is Twilight then you're Bella." Gerard smirked, risking putting his arm around Frank, and somehow, finding himself successful. "Wow, you really are, you've even got a Jacob as well - Alex."

"Oh fuck off - you are not Edward Cullen- why you'd even want to be I could never imagine, but, just fuck off, okay?" Frank sighed out, biting his lip and meeting Gerard’s gaze, but almost tentatively so. "Don't die, please- I mean, try not to die when things blow the fuck up, promise me you won't die."

"I'm immortal, idiot - it's you that I'm worried about." Gerard exclaimed, grabbing Frank's attention - the nineteen year old having never even considered his own death. "But, look, I'm not going to let you die- I don't care how much you hate me, but look, let me explain... I- I- I regret killing them so much, but then I didn't know you - they were just people, and I needed to feed- I was in New York with this guy, and it was fucked up - he was fucking crazy, but after I fucking brutally slaughtered them, I couldn't take it and so I came back to Mikey, and he hated me for what I did, but things got okay again, and then you turned up, and I'm sorry- I- Frank, I care about you."

"So I got sent here so I could be safe from you." Frank scoffed, rolling his eyes, and pulling his knees up to his chest.

"As if this fucking place could ever be safe."

"Please don't die on me, Gerard- I know, you say you're immortal, but please, don't get yourself in danger, like Mikey nearly died and I'm scared, I fucking care about you and it sucks, because you fucking suck, Gerard Way, but fuck-"

"I promise you, Frankie, I’m not gonna die. I haven't... you know what Mikey said to Ray- I haven't done that." But still, Bert's words echoed around Frank's head: haunting him, because Frank could never escape the fact that Bert just wasn't ever wrong.

"Gerard, how did you become a vampire?" Frank asked after a few moments of overly panicked silence, because still, Frank's head just wouldn't shut the fuck up. "You don't have like- I just... curious. I realised that there's an awful lot that I just don't know about you."

"I didn't ask for it or anything, this random guy in an alleyway just bit me and I happened to survive that... I'm lucky, I guess. I mean, it was really lucky, because otherwise, Mikey would have died: Mikey was sick, and Mikey was dying, he was going to fucking die, but I bit him and turned him to save him - of course, he fucking hated me for years after that, but we got through it - it's just been the two of us for far too long, and I'm used to that - I care about Mikey a lot, even if I'm not the best at showing it - I'm no good with emotions, Frank."

"Yeah, I guessed." Frank let out a light-hearted laugh, falling back into Gerard's lap. "My grandparents won't let me back in because apparently I'm the spawn of Satan now."

"Oh?" Gerard raised his eyebrows at that: perhaps just a little upset that someone had stolen the title from him.

"We had an argument when they told me what you did... and I was so angry I just blurted out the fact that I was dating a vampire... a guy, and that's like everything they hate... so we're not exactly on great terms anymore..."

"I'm sorry for fucking that up for you, I guess." Gerard sighed out, playing with Frank's hair in a way that was just nothing but ridiculously cute.

"Yeah, Gerard, you're an asshole and you fucking suck." Frank rolled his eyes: tone sarcastic beyond belief, and Gerard was more than fucking thankful of it.

"I'm a vampire, of course I suck- but yeah, I can suck... you off, if you'd like?"

Frank's eyes lit up at that. "Please."

-

"He's gone, isn't he?" The question was nothing but rhetorical and all but useless in anything other than killing the mood and the smiles and Pete's wishful thinking.

"Yeah, I think so." Pete sighed out, his gaze following Mikey's to the door, but his thoughts never quite catching up to Mikey's, because Ray had no place in Pete's mind, especially when everything was about Mikey.

"I fucked up, didn't I, Pete?" And when they sat like this: in some godforsaken of Bob Bryar's house, just pretending that they could be alone and everything could be okay: praying for naivety in the world of chaos around tem.

"It wasn't your fault." Pete had answered this question millions of times: the answer was always the same, and yet, Mikey was never satisfied, and that was just something that Pete reckoned he'd never be able to quite get his head around.

"It was." Mikey argued the case of his own self-hatred, as usual: again, something Pete couldn't quite ever begin to understand. "It was nothing but my fault, and it's clear: without me, he wouldn't have died in the first place."

"But without you, he would have never fallen in love with you: you did him a favour by just existing." And Pete spoke with knowledge, but from his own perspective and not Ray's, but there was no chance that Mikey would notice. "You do everyone a favour by just existing: looking at your cute face right now is truly an honour."

"Pete, you're not very discreet, you know." And it soon became clear that Mikey did notice, and Mikey had noticed every single time, and Pete was definitely fucked right now, but it was just a question as to what way. "It's kind of funny, you know, because you think you're so clever flirting with me everyday to make me feel better about myself, but really you're just dragging me down - you're my anchor, because I can't fucking deal with my fuckups and it's not your place to just make me smile enough to forget about them - you can't fuck with people's heads like that."

"I'm not fucking with your head." Pete protested, his eyes widening a little as he struggled to decode just what Mikey meant, and just what was going on in that pretty little head of his. "I'm flirting with you, because you're cute and I like you, and we never got a chance because Ray Toro can't decide whether he's going to stay dead or not, but I like you, and I like you a lot, and maybe I'll just leave that for you to think about, because seriously, you're already taking your time."

"I didn't know- Pete, you just- I thought that was just a stupid little thing, and I thought- I never even thought about this being a thing: us, I mean... I'm going to think about it now, of course, but, you're everything I should hate, but I don't, and this isn't going to work- I know, but-"

"But, fuck it, Mikey, with the war and everything going on around us, I'm probably going to die soon, so kiss me and make me feel better until then, because I can't focus on anything but you and your lips and everything I want and everything I need." Pete bit his lip, turning away. "Because with you, those lines are blurred - I don't know if I want you or if I actually need you, because it certainly feels like it sometimes."

"This is a kiss me moment, isn't it?" Mikey sighed out, pulling his knees up to his chest as he finally made proper eye contact with Pete.

"Yeah, in like every movie cliché ever." Pete droned on, blushing a little, because damn, Mikey definitely looked like he was considering it.

"I can't stop thinking about Ray." Mikey admitted, technically cockblocking himself in the process, and that was really not something that Pete was in support of him doing. "I mean, he's made it clear that he hates me forever now, but I just- guilt, fuck, guilt- it's killing me and I'm already dead, so really, guilt's accomplishing an awful lot right now - it should be proud, really, but then there's you, and you, you're something that I just can't put my finger on."

"You don't have to label and explain your every action, Mikey." Pete sighed out, letting his gaze slip to the window and the evening darkness outside. "Hell, we'll probably die soon, so just live for a couple of minutes with me - make this okay, and make this worthwhile.

"I'm already dead, Pete." Mikey reminded him, raising his eyebrows a little, but biting back one hell of a fucking smile. "But, you are cute, and let me tell you something - there's not a chance in hell that I'm going to let you die."

"Promise?"

"Promise." And Mikey fucking meant it, but as to whether that was a promise he could keep, that was simply out of his control. "And I'm especially not going to let you die without kissing me right now."

"Hell fucking yes!" Pete exclaimed like an over-excited child, and really, he didn’t even bother to care if that metaphor was entirely appropriate for the situation and the eventual fucking involved.

"You're a fucking idiot." Mikey rolled his eyes, leaning in and shutting Pete up once and for all - not by killing him, of course, although that was entirely possible, and really would be quite the plot twist, but, Mikey didn't really want to experience another boyfriend death right now (he certainly wasn't having much luck in keeping his boyfriends alive, like seriously, it wouldn't be all that preposterous to say that he was cursed or something).

Pete was grinning all the way through the kiss and all the way to the end: grinning across at Mikey as they finally pulled away, and Mikey didn't even roll his eyes, in fact, he just grinned back, because everything was okay, even if it was just for a few minutes, and even if the whole world was going to burn, Mikey Way had kissed Pete Wentz, and it had meant the entire fucking world.

-


	27. Big Gay Death Extravaganza

Darkness forevermore, and inevitable, but the waiting game was over.

And still, even in the conclusion: the light at the end of the tunnel, you couldn't help but long for the limbo: a realisation in time with the one that the conclusion was no better than the fight to get there.

The town was scared: the whole world had hidden behind its bedroom door today, and just like that, shadows had come out to play, and really, it was an unfair fight, and that still was an understatement.

The sun was absent from dark cloudy skies, and the weather told every tale that people could no longer speak, because no longer was this rumour, speculation and history: this was right here and this was right now, and this was as real as the cold chill against skin: both human and not quite so human alike.

Fear was unavoidable: fear was everything - the beating in your heart, and the red in your blood, the shape in the corner of your eye, and you were thankful: thankful but unaware.

They were different, though, and from the depths of hell which they crawled from burned red with fire and rage, soon leaving nothing but ash and ember.

This wasn't a burning fire: this wasn't a raging fight, this wasn't fair, this wasn't passion, this wasn't power - this was the ash and desperation it had left behind, because if there ever was a war, it had already been won, and the skies painted black made it rather clear as to who was the victor.

But resilience was human down to the bone, and soon there'd be nothing left, but the determination that had brought them here, and the towns people did try: wooden stakes by the dozen and prayers said by their plenty, but still, darkness sat a top the hill, and soon enough, the wretched hand of darkness would crawl out: bony knuckles and rotting flesh, and take the last hope left.

Faith was powerful, though: faith was all there really was left, and faith was exactly what kept the lights on in the church: the majority of the town crowded in there - afraid and screaming out in cry, but reality was in the truth that they couldn't hide there forever, and it was known like nothing else that one day, they would make their way up onto the hill, and into the graveyard, and die there in the darkness.

It wasn't a spectacular death, to say the least: it was quick and taken without as much of a care, and it was kind of death and destruction you heard of in fairytales, and fucking prayed to stay away from you in real life, but this was a nightmare down to perfection: trees barren and dark - branches twisted and crawling out like wooden fingers of skeletal hands - the world was dead, and soon the church would empty, and the town would meet the same fate.

All there was protecting them from such a fate, even if only temporarily so, was one little crucifix on the church door: faith, and that was all that was the weapon.

But faith, especially in a situation such as this, was nothing more than temporary, and with the rain pounding down on the church door, and the wind howling out a thousand skin tingling curses, the door and the crucifix upon it would soon be nothing.

-

Bob Bryar had very little faith left: his determination comprising of very little other than a stubborn hatred for fanged scum of the earth, and his favourite wooden stake in his coat pocket.

Still, one stubborn man with one weapon was very little when put against an army of apathic, bloodthirsty undead, but of course, Bob Bryar was not alone.

Still, his company wasn't exactly that of a warrior legion, but more so along the lines of the few friends that had stuck by him in this hellhole they regretted to call home, but that didn't seem to matter at all, because maybe, just maybe, Bert had an inkling that they had an edge here.

And God, if he even existed in this wasteland, would say that Bert McCracken was usually right.

Bert was nowhere near as angry as Bob: calm, but nowhere near complacent, just at rest with himself and the very real possibility of his demise - he'd been waiting on it for far too long now anyway, but still never any less determined than Mr Bryar himself.

Mikey was insistent upon two things: being here, and Pete not being here - it was more of a protective boyfriend thing than an angry ex-boyfriend thing, because with Pete and Mikey, and Ray gone for days now, and due to the situation, presumed dead, there was most definitely a thing between Pete and Mikey.

Bob wouldn't of course ever consider mentioning the likelihood of Ray's mortality, or well, the lack of it, to Mikey, especially not in circumstances such as these, because although Mikey may be irritating at the best of times, they needed everyone they had now.

Pete was almost as stubborn as Bob in the fact that he was going to be here, and he was going to look after Mikey - as ridiculous as that may sound, considering the two of them, and the world around them.

Frank was sat on Bob Bryar's sofa with his knees pulled up to his chest as he tried to contain himself: it taking every ounce of self-control he had to stay and not run as far as he could away from this chaos and impending doom - of course, the likelihood was that he'd die before he got out of the town itself, but with his heart beating in double time, he had enough adrenaline pumping through his veins to ensure he was reckless enough to try anything.

"You don't have to do this." Gerard had repeated it for something like the tenth time now, and Frank continued to only nod in his direction: a silent 'I know', and Gerard forced his worries back inside him, biting down on his lip a little as he tried not to think too hard about just how this could very easily end up for them, and god, it was killing him. "Frank, I'm scared. I'm scared for you."

"Don't be." Frank sighed out, letting Gerard sit down beside him: the vampire twitching in a way that Frank couldn't quite place - it unnerved him just a little, but he had far more troublesome things to think about right now. "Be scared of them."

"I am one of them - how could I be scared?" Gerard pointed out the obvious, but Frank couldn't help but feel like he was missing the point just a little.

"If you weren't scared of them you wouldn't have any problem with me doing this." Frank added, his voice just a little spiteful, but out of nothing but nerves.

"Not necessarily, because I have a fucking problem, Frank-" Gerard's tone soon grew louder and turned a whole new kind of fucking sour.

"Yeah, you really do seem to have some sort of fucking problem if you can't make your fucking mind up and act like a rational fucking person!" And with that Frank made his way out of the living room and into the hallway, stopping dead in his tracks at the front door, not quite having the guts to continue, because this was more to prove a point than to actually benefit anything, and Frank didn't quite think his life was worth the satisfaction of pissing off Gerard.

"Don't." Gerard closed the door behind them, grabbing Frank by the shoulder and gripping tight into his skin.

"Why not?" Frank's voice was scratched and raw: nonchalant to the extent that it unsettled Gerard a little.

"Because I can't have you die - I can't deal with that: I need you." Gerard words were lovesick and pathetic to say the least, and really, this was very Romeo and Juliet, but right now, Frank would argue against his love for Gerard within a heartbeat.

"It's always about you, isn't it?" His voice was spiteful: just doing this to be cruel, and perhaps it was the stress and the pressure of the chaos outside, or at least that was what Gerard liked to think to keep the insanity at bay.

"Me?" Gerard exclaimed, shaking his head frantically, because he knew nothing like he knew the fact that Frank was wrong. "This is all about you."

"How so?" Frank was unconvinced and even found himself holding in laughter at Gerard proclaiming he actually cared about anyone other than himself, which really was news to Frank, although a better word for it would probably be bullshit.

"You're everything, Frank. You know how I- you know how I care, and I don't understand just what has made you unable to see that: to see that with every kiss I give you everything, perhaps that's what you are to me. I am nothing, and you the water in my cup - half full or empty it doesn't matter - all that matters is you... I- I-..."

"Lies." Frank wrote it off before his mind could even consider it, pushing Gerard away and taking another step towards the door, his hand grasping the handle, and right now, if Gerard had a heart, it would be beating right out of his chest and onto the floor.

"Frank!" He was desperate and pleading, and it was beautifully pathetic, and almost entertaining on Frank's end, if he was sadistic enough to think so, that was.

"Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn't just walk out and leave."

"You'll die." Gerard practically screamed the words at him, but really, it wasn't necessary, as they were absolutely nothing but obvious.

"Yeah, we all die eventually, Gerard: humans, anyway... you're not familiar with mortality are y-"

"I love you."

And the words had left his lips before he could stop himself, and the silence that followed was enough to finish him off completely.

"There's my reason." He added, swallowing hard, but the sinking feeling in his stomach still refused to go away.

And, again, silence and stillness as the two remained frozen: gazes looked and locking for something, anything in each other's eyes, but eventually, just like everything, the little bubble of reality on hold stopped and faded away into nothingness.

And Frank's hand moved away from the door.

-

"We've got very little hope, but we've got faith, and we've got fucking stakes, and more damn hope than any of those fanged assholes, no offense, Gerard and Mikey, you are my favourite vampires." Bob Bryar's battle speech was fuelled less on inspiration and passion and more so on the last bottle of whisky he could find in the kitchen, but it mattered, nevertheless.

"We're going to die out there." Pete came to verbalise the thought on everyone's mind.

"We're not going to." Bob corrected him with a crooked little smile: misplaced under the circumstances. "We just have to uphold this place - it's simple, look, they'll reach here after the church has been emptied and they've been killed, but we just have to keep defending this place, and killing any that get it, and I've called in a favour or two: I have a friend or two, or many, and we have backup, we have hope."

"Who the hell are these friends?" Mikey asked, eyes widened a little, but really, he was in absolutely no place to turn away any hope he could get right now.

"Vampire slayers have vampire slaying friends, and you see, they're using the graveyard like a hive: take out the hive and the bees will die with no shelter and food, they'll be lost and weak and we can help finish the job. We'll win, I promise you: Bert says we have hope, and it's Bert, so we'll be fine - anything Bert says is true."

And as everyone else clapped in response to Bob's explanation, Frank's heart almost stopped beating entirely as he came to remember Bert's vision regarding Gerard, and how that had so suddenly become possible, and just how that was absolutely nothing more than Frank's fault.

"Okay, so everyone does know how to kill a vampire, don't they?" Bert added, just to check, laughing a little, and as to how he could in the circumstances, Frank had no idea: his brain seizing up and slowing down at the realisation of destiny and how everything clicked together and finally fell into place.

Because right now, Frank would give anything to die in Gerard's place, and as fucked up as it was, he meant it more than he'd even meant anything before - this was on him, after all. 

-

Gerard and Frank sat in the living room alone: too many hours to count having passed since Bob's motivational, slightly drunken speech, but still, it felt like no time at all, especially with the threat of the inevitable hanging in the front of Frank's mind.

And yet, he still couldn’t quite bring himself to tell him, and fuck, that was fucked up beyond belief, but still, there was very little Frank could do at this point.

Bob, Mikey, and Pete were at the front door, defending the place from the front, and Bert was supposed to join the two guarding the backdoor, but it became apparent that he'd either died or fucked off elsewhere, and really, neither Frank nor Gerard wanted to worry themselves with the possibility of either right now.

The backdoor was seemingly free of vampires: almost like they were scared of this, or just really didn't like the backdoor... who knew that vampires didn't like anal? Gerard had certainly given Frank the absolute opposite of that impression, but then again, that wasn't something that Frank would ever find himself regretting.

What he did find himself regretting was let this happen, and the way his throat seized up completely whenever he ever considered letting the truth slip his lips, and in silence he continued to reside: his heart sinking back down in his chest as they sat in silence and waited.

"Thought you might like some company, huh?" The two jumped at the vampire stepping from nowhere in front of them: Gerard getting to his feet immediately, and Frank freezing into place as he came to recognise the fanged face.

"Alex?" Frank was a little startled to say the least, and really, from that look in Alex's eyes, he was nothing but terrified. "What the hell's going on? What have you become? What's happened?"

"I'm just like him: what's your problem, Frankie? And I'm here to claim you as my own, and to do that... I need to..." His eyes fell upon Gerard with the world's biggest smirk: sending shivers down both of their spines.

"You- you-... no. Alex, please, no. Don't like beat him up or anything, please, we've been through this-"

"Oh Frankie? You think I'm just going to punch him a little? Oh, no, I'm going to finish this for once and for all." And Gerard remained far too silent, and far too composed as Alex pulled out a stake from his coat pocket. "You know how this goes, don't you, Gerard?"

The vampire nodded: avoiding Frank's gaze and the possibility of actually giving the nineteen year old any answers at all. "I know."

"You don't seem scared." Alex noted, smirking a little as his eyebrows rose in Gerard's direction, and really, Frank was screaming on the inside, yet somehow frozen into silence by the situation around him.

"I'm not." Gerard clarified: his face expressionless, and almost as if he'd been fucking expecting this, and goddamn, Frank was still frozen to the spot, his throat closing in around his words as he struggled to breathe.

"You should be."

"That's debatable." Gerard shrugged it off, stepping forward and simply pushing Alex away from him. "Considering my immortality, you know? That's not an authentic fucking stake, Alex, it's not going to fucking work - come on."

"But Gerard- you-" Frank's throat finally allowed just three words to pass his lips, and really, it wasn't the most coherent sentence by any means. "You said!"

"Oh... so now it gets interesting." Alex smirked, pausing for a moment in his quest to kill Gerard, and just to see how this turned out.

"Doesn't mean that I meant it, didn't it?" Gerard bit down on his bottom lip, gathering enough courage to meet Frank's gaze and finish this: one last ditch attempt to save himself. "I'm a vampire: we're not capable of love, we're not capable of emotion, not really. I don't love you, Frank. It's fine."

"And the plot thickens." Alex's eyes widened: glancing between the two of them. "But, Gerard, if that's a lie, that's a pretty good one, but it's an awful fucking shame that I have a fucking wonderful way to prove it either way."

And with one smooth motion, Alex plunged his stake through Gerard's heart.

And at first nothing, and Gerard was almost shocked that it had actually worked, but before he knew anything: life was sucked from him and he fell back against the floor.

Bert McCracken was never wrong, after all.

But within seconds, Alex was also down against the floor with a stake through his heart, and none other than Bert McCracken, just a little late, having done so.

"I didn't tell you everything, Frank: I don't tell people everything, because then they meddle and they mess and they try to 'fix' things - the town has an order, it's to keep the treaty and balance and peace, but, now, it's nothing but chaos, and I... I don't see the point in that anymore." 

Frank remained frozen in place: staring right at his dead boyfriend, totally unable to let it go - he was frozen, after all.

"Gerard's fucking dead: he's dead..." Frank choked out, and really, speaking it aloud made it all so much worse.

"I can fix that.. I can fix things... I'm not supposed to, but... this town is fucked enough already... and he didn't deserve this... he didn't at all." Bert knelt down besides Gerard's body and placed his hands on Gerard's chest, muttering something under his breath that Frank didn't quite catch, before turning to Frank with a look of urgency in his eyes. "Get the bandages, Frank - I need to pull the stake out and when I do, we need to stop him bleeding out, because like that he will die."

"You're not human, are you?" Frank met Bert with wide eyes.

Bert shook his head with a small smile. "No, but keep quiet about this: you're not supposed to know and this is not supposed to happen, you're supposed to just get the bandages, and we pretend the stake missed his heart, okay?"

Frank nodded, returning with the bandages, and passing them to Bert, who muttered something else under his breath before pulling the stake out, Gerard releasing a pained gasp as he did so: the vampire's body jerking as life drained back into him, but just like that, he was bleeding, and he was fucking dying again.

"Fuck-" Gerard choked out, his vision fuzzy and distorted as Bert frantically bandaged up the wound on his chest, applying pressure in order to keep him from bleeding out and pressing down on Gerard's chest before muttering something else under his breath, and with that Gerard's breathing began to regulate, his eyelids slowly flickering upon and focusing on Frank. "What the fuck happened?"

"You died." Bert was entirely too nonchalant about it, and Gerard really wasn't expecting that as a response. "I brought you back: I'm not supposed to, but-"

"Yeah, I get it: visions, magic... it makes sense. You're a wizard, you're basically Harry fucking Potter, okay... I caught onto this ages ago." Gerard rolled his eyes: speaking with entirely too much sarcasm for someone who was dead just a minute ago.

"I prefer the term sorcerer-"

"I prefer Frank's asshole." Gerard rolled his eyes, attempting to sit up, before finding that that was a very bad idea indeed, but before he could even fathom a complaint, Pete rushed into the room: wide eyed and practically screaming.

"He's dead: Mikey's dead."

"What? How? No- I-"

"Ray... Ray killed him... he... he's one of them now."

And that broke Gerard's heart, completely, because like this, without Mikey, none of it was worth it at all: he'd give his life for Mikey's, and technically he already had: this whole vampire thing, this eternal darkness and suffering, it was always for Mikey - to save his little brother, because poor little Mikey Way never deserved to die.

But it seemed that not even Gerard could look after him forever.

-


	28. It Ends Wtf HeLp me What Am I Going To Do Now?

It was over.

Well, the conflict was over: it was over in general, but for Frank Iero that was really not the case.

When Frank woke up on Bob Bryar's living room floor, at first, he thought he was dead, but really, everyone was glad to hear that that just wasn't the case.

It was over, and Frank could quite believe it.

The town was empty and desolate: devoid of life, but devoid of them, and somehow, somehow Bob's plan had actually worked, and the five of them found themselves alone, but alive in the remains of what was once the town that Frank had been moved to for his own safety.

Safety.

That fucking made him laugh, because really, this place had been nothing more than the cause of all his problems, but he wouldn't have it any other way, because Gerard Way stood in the kitchen, talking to Bert: unaware that Frank had woken up yet, and really, Frank was happy to just watch him for a moment or two, because everything felt fucking surreal with his head spinning like this.

He couldn't quite hear their conversation from here, and he couldn't properly read either of their facial expressions either, which made it pretty hard to decipher just as to exactly what was being said, but the fact that Gerard was alive right now mattered for more to Frank, because the nineteen year old really couldn't ever even dream imagining losing him at all.

Perhaps they'd move on and Frank would accept an apology, but he wasn't sure yet: it wasn't easy, though, and he was sure of that at the very least, because damn, his head was a mess, and it always had been ever since he got here.

And really, he couldn't help but remember when things were innocent and it was all nerves and mystery and Frank didn't even know who Gerard was and what he was capable of, let alone what he'd done and why he could never help but mean so much to Frank.

Maybe Frank wanted those days back: when Ray was still goddamn alive, for real, and Ray was his best friend, and Mikey was okay, and Pete was no one, and Gerard was just the shadow behind him in the record store and the chills running down his spine - everything felt pretend back then, but now it was just a constant headache, and Frank was going to be sick any moment now, and Gerard could feel Frank's eyes in the back of his skull, and he turned, and everything went wrong.

Frank recognised the tear stains on his face immediately: Gerard most certainly didn't make a habit of crying, but it was rather evident as to what had turned his eyes so red and his face so pale, well, paler than usual.

And Frank was frozen upon the spot as Gerard met his gaze, and everything felt static, and it was lost: Bert miles away from the two of them, despite standing within reaching distance of Gerard.

It was complicated: it always had been, and it always will be, and it was Frank decision from here. He could leave right now, now it was safe to leave this town, and he could make his way back to New York and start a new life and pretend this was just some distance daydream: that one winter you won't remember by the age of forty three, but it wasn't right, and Frank was frozen right on the spot, and Gerard meant far too much to just leave alone.

"Gerard- I..." Eloquence proved not to be Frank's strong point, as he finally found enough energy in his body to make his way across the room to Gerard, and to figure this all out.

"He's dead, Frank. Mikey's dead- I... I could never save him, and this is my fault.. I killed him in the end, Frank- why did you? Why did you let this happen, I... I... I don't matter... I... he's dead..." Gerard met Frank's gaze with an unplaceable anger, and Frank was a little nervous to say the least: searching his wrong doings in the nothingness, and resorting to turning to Bert, who simply stood wide eyed and guilty.

"What? I... this isn't your fault, Gerard. I know he's dead, but that's not anyone's fault... it's just the world fucking things up again... it was horrible, but... god, I'm sorry... I'm so sorry, but you can't blame yourself: you can't blame anyone."

Gerard only shook his head firmly. "No, you're wrong." And with that, he stepped away from Frank, leaving the teenager wide eyed and just generally shell shocked as he stood alone and nervous in the middle of Bob Bryar's kitchen, because it was never over, not really.

"Frank, I... I'm sorry, but..." Bert stepped forward, walking past Gerard until he was in front of Frank, pulling the nineteen year old into a slightly unexpected, but always appreciated hug. "Look... I fucked up here... I told you that there was a reason I wasn't supposed to fuck with this shit, and I thought things were fucked up as they were, but these things... they... I'm sorry... I should have known that you can't just resurrect people with no real consequences-"

"Mikey died because I didn't." Gerard snapped, summarising Bert's stuttered excuse for an apology in one cut throat kind of sentence, that practically killed Frank too.

"Fuck." The silence was too long and the response was inevitable, but still Frank had nothing to say at all. "I'm sorry."

"You shouldn't have brought me back: you can live without me, but everything I've done was to keep Mikey alive, maybe I got lost somewhere down the line, but seriously, he's my little brother, and he doesn't deserve this mess: he never did anything wrong, and he never hurt anyone at all, whereas I'm the world's worst nightmare and this is all down to your guilt, because you feel bad for hating me, when you should: you should hate me like you hate every asshole who's ever wronged you, because I've sinned a thousand times more than them all combined."

"I don't hate you, and this isn't a guilt thing, because Gerard... you're wrong, I can't live without you, I mean this, I... I..." And the words caught in his throat.

"You don't have to say it: it's just guilt, and it was just a mistake, it was just to protect you... I couldn't have you dead... I couldn't live without you, Frank, I'm pathetic and obsessive, and you really do know that by now. I'm sorry: I fucked up a million times over, but still, ten million apologies wouldn't be enough-"

"One is enough for me." Frank continued, meeting Gerard's eyes in order to convey just how much he really did mean this, even if it was the stupidest decision he'd ever made, it was one he was damn sure of.

"No, Frank, that's fucking stupid, you-"

"Accept his damn apology, you fucking idiot." Bert piped up, shaking his head at the two of them.

"Okay." Gerard muttered after a moment, stepping forward and grabbing Frank by the hand, and glancing at his wrist, only for his eyes to widen a little. "The bracelet I gave you- I... it's gone?"

"I'm sorry..." Frank muttered, blushing a little. "I... uhh... lost it." That sounded better than the fact that his grandfather freaked out about it for some reason, but really, due to Frank's unconvincing tone, it really didn't.

"Good. I'm glad you did." Gerard sighed out, grabbing Frank by the hand and pulling him towards the living room. "Bert, can you give us a moment?" He nodded in response, disappearing behind a door to look for Bob and find out as to just what the hell he'd done to deal with this mess.

"Well..." Frank exhaled loudly as he sat down on the sofa beside Gerard, his knees pulled up to his chest and his beating at the twice the speed in his chest.

"You forgave me too easily, and... you actually... you actually did that of your own accord... I- I...?" And really, to Frank, Gerard wasn't making all that much sense at all.

"What do you mean? Of course I did." Frank turned to Gerard, utterly fucking confused. "I'm really sorry about Mikey, I am, but... I... I... you know I... you know I-"

"I love you." Gerard blushed a little at that, pulling his gaze away from Frank's out of embarrassment. "I'll say it for the both of us, shall I?"

"Yeah... I guess that'd be best." Frank sighed out, giggling out of anxiety as he did so. "Wait so this... I.. what do you mean with the forgiving me thing?"

"Frank, this isn't going to be easy, but I have to be honest with you now, because fuck, I should give you every reason to hate me, because I still can't believe that you still like me, because honestly, if I were you, I would have slapped me and fucked right off back to New York."

"I was thinking about leaving now and just going back there and forgetting this all, actually..." Frank paused, meeting Gerard’s gaze and trying to read his thoughts off his expression, but it was impossible: Gerard was complicated and always had been. "But I can't: you mean too much to me and I can't forget you, and I'm really damn stubborn about that."

"Well, I guess this will really test how stubborn you are, because I was a fucking horrible piece of shit to you, because...I... fuck... I didn't think of you as person for quite a while at first: I didn't think of you as my boyfriend and more as the pretty little slut who'd do whatever I said, but then... then everything got fucked up and whatever heart I have left got the better of me, and that’s entirely your fault. That bracelet was cursed, you see, it was a... it was a mind control, well just influence kind of thing... it's complicated, and well, Bert's not the only person who knows a little bit about curses and magic, let's say, but I just wanted to keep you as mine, and I wanted to ensure you obeyed my every word and was loyal to me, no matter what I did, and that was the way I was sure of that... but... you don't even wear it anymore, and that really fucked me up..."

"What the fuck, Gerard?" Frank's voice was cracking, and he was unsure as to what the hell he felt right now, because it was a fucking cruel mixture of hatred and love, and he wanted out, and he wanted to wish it all away. "Fuck... I... I..."

"Love isn't something normal in vampire culture... relationships, god no, and I didn't expect this at all, but you're everything I need, and Frank... I can't tell you how much I mean it when I say I love you."

"When did this stop... when did you start actually giving a fucking shit about the guy who was head over heels for you, huh?" Frank snapped, biting his lip as he glared at Gerard, utterly unsure as to what the hell he was supposed to make of this, because fuck, Gerard was messing with his head again, he was sure of it, but Gerard wasn't, and Frank was the one messing with his own head here.

"Quite a while ago now, it was sort of gradual, I guess, I don't really know... it was unexpected, goddamn, but now... I guess, if you want to, and if you don't hate me, if you can look past the monster I am, then I'd like to start out new and I'd like a whole relationship: one where we don't lie and we can't say I love you without freaking out, and one where it's just normal and we cuddle and watch shitty TV and get out of this fucking town and have a life together, and everything's okay... and that's a pipe dream.. I'm not sure I can ever escape this world, but with you... for you... I'd do anything, I promise."

And Frank sat, awestruck in silence for far too long, because every single second hurt with every single heartbeat and everything that was killing him inside. This meant too much, and this was always complicated, and he just wanted this to be simply and easy, and maybe, just maybe, Frank was the one complicating things, because maybe, just maybe, things could be easy if he wanted them to be, but he was always unsure.

"Tell him you love him before it's too late." The two looked up to see Pete Wentz stood in the doorway: his eyes red from crying, and his body shaking slightly like he was struggling to hold it together, but he was trying, and he deserved everything for that. "Don't fuck up like I did."

And as Pete left, closing the door behind him, Frank turned to Gerard, and Gerard’s lips in particular, because actions spoke louder than words, especially when they were caught at the back of your throat.

And immediately Frank knew he'd made the right decision, because this was easy, this was natural, this was everything this damn town had fucked him over for.

Gerard Way was his silver lining: hidden away, dull in the darkness of the shadows, but shining like perfection itself out in the open. 

-

Pete wondered if his life had all just become one big practical joke, as he highly doubted that the tears would ever stop, and the heartbeat would ever pass.

This was a mess, and he knew it like he knew that it hurt.

There was nothing left of either Mikey or Ray now, and Pete knew that really, it wasn't anyone's fault, but still, that did nothing to fix the great gaping hole inside his chest.

It was a lovesick ordeal that needed to stop right fucking now, but Pete had no self-control and no knowledge of when to stop: a train that had left its tracks miles behind it.

There was nothing left for him to do here, and still he stood on the hills on the outskirts of town, and set his gaze off into nowhere: his thoughts following in the same direction, because it was unimportant, and he was unimportant, and everything was enough to make him sick.

Bob's explanation had been meaningless, and all in all, this had all meant nothing, but at least, for the time being anyway, Frank and Gerard were okay, and Pete would be the good person today, because even if he felt like the sand at the bottom of the ocean, it didn't mean he had to drag people down to the depths with him.

Things were fucked up as they were, anyway, and maybe that just wasn't something that Pete could do anything about, and maybe that was okay, but really it wasn't, and maybe Pete needed to become a better liar if he wanted to have any chance of surviving at all.

But maybe that didn't matter anymore, especially not with Mikey gone: there was no hope in trying to fix this and bring him back, after all, he'd seen what Ray had become, and maybe this was God's fucked up way of saying that he never should have gone to this fucking town with a fucking shitty ass crazy drunken teenage dream... he wasn’t Katy Perry, after all.

He'd grown up a hell of a lot here, actually, and it had hardly been anytime at all, but it felt like the best part of forever and maybe he was a lost cause by now, but that wasn't going to stop the stubborn asshole inside of him.

Frank and Gerard had made their way out of this place the next morning, and to where, well, no one had a fucking clue, but they just wanted out, and they couldn't be blamed for it at all: Gerard needed to get away from the town that had haunted him for decades, and Frank needed the guy who'd ruined his life to ruin it all over again.

Bert and Bob were working on rebuilding this mess: having buried the bodies of their friends, and burned the ones of their enemies, and Pete knew that with their determination and friendship, or perhaps something more than that, they'd sort it all out, but Pete was alone, and he had nothing, except the town that had killed his boyfriend.

Mikey mattered: always had and always will.

Pete had nothing to say at the funeral, and he felt guilty, but it didn't matter: the eulogy was nothing in the grand scheme of things, and perhaps so was this - one relationship amongst the many in Pete's life.

And chances were that he'd move on and start something else and forget about this all within twenty years, but he knew that was absolutely impossible.

Pete just knew that he'd done the right thing in ensuring that Frank said I love you back, because with one sentence, Pete had saved Frank from the same fate destined to him.

It was okay anyway: Pete could stay here, inside his head, where insanity reined free, because locked inside the four prison walls of his self-destructive subconscious, Pete saw Mikey all the time.

And that would kill him in the end too.

-


End file.
